Black Magic
by repossessme
Summary: AU-timeline, this story takes place when the Scoobies are in their 20s, post-college. Giles has spent a long time abroad dealing with mysterious council matters, and has just returned to Sunnydale. There are hints of something that has transpired between Willow/Giles in what seems like the distant past, what can it mean for the present? And what of this new danger Giles senses?
1. Chapter 1

Time was a strange thing, really. Even though Giles had thought it would be impossible to keep away from Willow, that things had changed too much and they could never hope to return to how it had been, time slipped by. He saw her just as frequently as he had, in the library and while practicing spells. Sometimes it was harder than others not to be drawn to her, or favor her with more attention. No one seemed to notice, or if they did they didn't think anything odd about it. Eventually some kind of normalcy set in, their strange relationship becoming almost normal, and time moved faster.

It was easy to get distracted by the crazy happenings in Sunnydale, and their duties to prevent those crazy things from destroying everything they knew. Vampires, Demons and all the like kept them busy. Giles trained his Slayer dutifully, and did what he could to help her in all of their battles. He taught Willow what he knew about magic, and learned from her as her skills developed beyond even his imaginings. They went to college and he was struck with a sense of no longer being needed, though, that was alleviated soon enough. He was a part of their lives as much as he was their.

They made new friends over the years, some that were surprises and became a part of their vampire fighting group, others that were more personal and less involved in the magical realm. Giles befriended a woman near his age, who he had met in a book store and bumped into, spilling her coffee on himself and setting off a bumbling chain reaction of events that inevitably made her take a shine to him. With her he could talk about normal things, never about magic or demons, and he grew to like her friendship. He noticed a change in Willow around then, and confronted her about her jealousy only a few days before he got a call that would take him away from Sunnydale.

An old 'friend' had contacted him, and he returned to England to deal with it. While there, he found himself in the company of Ethan Rayne, the two unlikely allies once more. Their past was inescapable, and their futures interlinked. Most of their friends had already been killed, though they had acquaintances that had not been involved in the Eyghon escapades. Those friends had gotten into trouble again, and were implicating Giles and Ethan in a rather serious case of magical murder. Giles had to clear his name, as well as stop the chaos they had unleashed. It was only after a long struggle and very serious danger that Giles learned his old best mate Ethan had, in fact, been the instigator of all the trouble.

It took months of hiding and fleeing the Watcher's Council and other magic-hunting groups to finally work up enough evidence in his favor. Being drawn to England and being spotted with Rayne had only served to mark him as the culprit, an elaborate set up by Rayne, and he was constantly fleeing in order to stay alive. He couldn't return to the states, however, because he did not want to abandon the few people he still had left from his past. He was also too proud to let them think him a monster, and he knew in the end that they would just come and find him in America. And then the others would get dragged into it, just like with Eyghon, and someone would get hurt.

So he dealt with it all. A couple of times he was caught by bounty-hunter-like groups who were out for the money being offered through the magical community on him. Those experiences were not too pleasant, but he always managed to get himself out of it. Eventually he cleared everything up, using Black Magic and fairly wicked tactics to do it, though Rayne escaped, and the Council offered him an apology and sent him home. And that was it. All that trouble and stress and near-death experience and they simply issued a sorry and sent him on his way. Back to his Slayer and the duties they still expected him to perform. But he couldn't complain about that. He was thankful to be home.

He wasn't going to tell the others what had happened in England. He was still a bit banged up, one particularly glaring cut across his temple still healing after his last confrontation with Rayne. He'd come up with some excuse. He didn't tell them which plane he would be on, only that he was coming home within the week, so he didn't think anyone would be waiting for him at the airport. They weren't, and he made it back to the flat he had kept payments up on even while he was away, hoping to spend a few days in silence and thought before confronting the others. Except the moment he walked in he felt lonely, and he was wondering for a couple of hours, constantly, what the others had been doing while he was away.

So he called Willow and asked her to come over.

Willow had spent the years discovering just how deep her innate magical abilities ran. She was surprised to astonish even Giles at times, but she fed on his praise. They maintained a rather chaste relationship in the aftermath of their intimacy. Buffy had commented on her awkwardness around Giles only once, and Willow had let her assume that her behavior had been caused by a reaction to dealing with Giles' actions while consumed with black magic. It was easier that way, and in time things evened out. She still burned for him, but as the years went by she found it easier to control herself in his presence.

She had dated, casually, but nothing had come of any of it. The dates had been fun diversions, nothing more, nothing less. It was easy to lose herself in college, and after that, commit herself even more fully to her study of magic. She watched her friends change with the years, the same in so many ways and yet the years brought new things for all of them; some had left and some were new. There were jabs at her inability or lack of desire to maintain any long-term relationships, and she played them off to the best of her ability. It wasn't that she was consciously trying to avoid loving anybody else, she just found that she couldn't. It didn't make her happy, she never felt that spark, it just didn't seem worth it to lead others on when she had no interest in them.

When Giles had gone back to England, she had been uneasy. She didn't know what would happen, and even scrying gave her no insight - perhaps she was too clouded with emotion. That emotion had been dredged up from the depths of her heart only a little while before he had left Sunnydale... when he had confronted her about her jealousy. She had spent a good chunk of her life trying to come to terms with her feelings, and his discomfort with their situation, but she wasn't a robot. She was human, she had acted in ways that betrayed her still-harbored affection for him, and he had caught on. She tried to be better after talking with him about it, to push it back down and get back to whatever passed for normal in their complicated interpersonal dealings, but then he'd left.

It was like he was going on in life without her, really it had been like that for years, but with him gone it had suddenly hit her full-force. But it wasn't fair to think like that, Giles had obligations and Buffy was strong enough to manage without him if need be, they all were, they all had their duties and they were responsible in his stead. Willow still felt like she had lost him, it had been so many years acting normal, perhaps he wasn't even considering her anymore, perhaps he was too kind to stamp on her heart once and for all. It might have been easier on her if she hadn't had to deal with her feelings, out loud and directly to him, so soon before he left.

She was anxious for his return when the Scoobies were informed that he would be back. She certainly didn't expect his call, or even think that she was the first to know. She didn't bother calling Buffy or anyone else because it hadn't dawned on her that they wouldn't know he was back. Willow had spent so long trying to rid herself of how special he had made her feel, because that made life easier, and so it had become nearly second-nature to consider herself as meaning nothing more to him than any of the others. It didn't always work, especially when he smiled at her, but she tried.

She allowed herself to feel some elation. It was amazing to hear his voice after his time abroad, she wanted to know what had happened, she had so many questions. She wanted to know how he was, she wanted to see him and once again she was faced with those emotions. Even though she had convinced herself she wasn't special, _he_was still quite special to her, and that would never change, or at least, hadn't changed in the last smattering of years. She just hoped she wouldn't make a fool out of herself after not having seen him for a while.

Absence and the heart and all that.

It was dreadfully accurate.


	2. Chapter 2

Willow was surprised when she arrived at Giles' apartment and didn't see any cars she recognized from the group. She didn't think too much of it, simply rang his doorbell and tried to quell her anticipation, smoothing wrinkles from her billowy dress out of nerves more than anything else.

Giles was sitting in his living room, trying his best not to feel anxious. But of course he did. He couldn't help it. It had been so long, not just because he had been in England, but before that. He couldn't remember the last time he had needed the company of one specific person so badly. Maybe he never had felt anything like this.

The Watcher was leaning forward in his armchair, guitar on his knees, head slightly bowed as he played and listened to the notes. He played without sheet music or previous knowledge, letting his impulses guide his fingers and reveling in the sounds that the old guitar produced. Music tended to sooth him, almost as much as books did. He played when his mind was too alive for reading, his thoughts and fears and worries all turning into notes.

His ears perked at the sound of the door, and he stood abruptly, nearly knocking his chair back. Putting the guitar down carefully, he crossed to the door, hesitating and back pedaling to look himself in the mirror. Besides the evidence of a fight, he was looking quite good. Better, in fact, than when he had left. Grimacing, he knew why. Hopefully she wouldn't notice. In any case, his hair was shorter, cut and colored to hide his identity in England. It was just growing back from being buzzed short, an odd look that he absolutely despised, though now it had some of its old life back. He still had his earring in, but failed to notice it as he moved to open the door.

He smiled when he saw her, looking at once relieved and calm. All of these things had been distant memories to him before that moment, his previous situation not calling for any of them. Stepping out of the doorway, he invited her in.

"I-it's good to see you, Willow," he stammered.

Willow stepped inside graciously, though her lips quirked as she looked at him. There was something... something she couldn't put her finger on that was different, and it wasn't just his hair. Nor the cut on his temple- but that distracted her for the moment, filled her with concern. Almost on impulse she halfway reached out to touch at it, before drawing her hand back and cradling it as though she had accidentally touched a hot iron. She wasn't sure how to feel or act and she wasn't taking any measures to hide her confusion.

"Giles... I'm so glad you're back with us," she said as she cast her gaze about the room. No Buffy. No Xander, Anya... just his guitar. She smiled and looked back at him, perplexed but still awash with relief at his safe return, and the way it made her feel to hear him say it was good to see her. She noticed the earring then, and something about that called back to the feeling she had had of _offness_ upon first looking at him, but she was too overwhelmed with seeing him in the flesh to think very clearly or put things together in her mind. She stood awkwardly near the front door, nudging the toe of her shoe into the carpet. She hadn't felt quite this disarmed in some time. "What happened to you? Are you all right? Your- you have a cut," she said dumbly, shaking her head almost immediately after the words left her lips. "Not that that's obvious or anything," she sighed.

Giles looked confused for a moment, then lifted his hand to his temple and winced at the memory, though actually touching it didn't hurt him at all. Shaking his head, he offered a smile to shrug the concern away.

"It's fine. Ha, it's just been quite a, ah, long trip. Please, ah, d-do come in," he ushered her toward the living room, closing the door behind her. It was difficult not to cast a wary look around, so used to hiding as he had become. He imagined his anxiety and paranoia would be high for some time. "Can I, uhm, get you some tea or some- actually, no. I don't think I... have anything here, yet. So. Uh. Oh dear."  
He ran a hand through his hair, bewildered for a moment. He was put off with having her near him again, and feeling like he was suddenly facing everything he had been shoving to the back of his mind. How silly that was! To turn into a boy with a crush at the least appropriate time. He had invited her over, after all.

"That was quite ill planned of me. But I thought... I don't know what I thought. I wanted to see you. It... ah, feels like too long. I'm sorry I was away. In England and... b-before that."

Willow took a few tentative steps inside, before finally she forced herself to sit down on the couch. She didn't know why it was suddenly so hard to move about as normal, maybe because she was alone with him now. For the first time in a long while.

"It's okay," she waved her hand at the subject of tea. "I understand, you just got back," she laughed. "Gosh I'm really inconsiderate, I should have brought a- a gift or something," she was rambling a bit from nerves, "like, like a re-housewarming? Hmm," she started to chew her lower lip but caught herself. It was a habit she'd been trying to break.

His other words found their way into her brain, but she didn't know what to think of them. He wanted to see her. Well, of course he'd want to see all of the Scoobies! _Silly Willow, there you go again. Don't make this harder on yourself, you're already embarrassing yourself as it is._ It's not helping that he looks so good, wound and all. _Shut up shut up!_

"Before? But you were here," she said somewhat manically, as though desperate to rid the words of the meaning he intended, twist them into something bland and superficial. "And, well, England... you had things to do," she grimaced a little, more than things. Important more-than-things that had required his immediate attention and absence from Sunnydale for months. She didn't want him to think she was belittling anything he'd gone through, though of course she was still in the dark about it all. "Ummm, so, I guess you've already talked to Buffy? Did she have to leave? Xander? Maybe he's at work..." Willow's leg was jiggling madly against the couch cushion, but she was unaware of the nervous tremor.

"No..," he breathed carefully, avoiding the topic of England, looking down instead of at her, "they don't know I'm here yet, actually. Ah,you were... were the first person I've called. I just didn't want to bother them if, you know, if I had to go back. I'm almost certain things are settled, but one can never be sure with the Council these days. Ah, oh, not to imply that I don't mind bothering you. I just... thought... er."

He folded his arms over his chest and looked up at her, green eyes as sharp as ever. He had a rugged air about him, a well ordered stubble on his chin and even the trace remnants of what had at one time been a goatee of sorts. He had shaved before heading for home, and had only cleaned it up rather than shaved it all off once he was back. Another effort to change his appearance in England. It left him looking fairly robust, though there was more to it than simple aesthetic changes.

He was wearing dark, loose jeans and a fairly casual shirt, an old, faded leather jacket hanging over the back of his arm chair. Looking around, he suddenly found himself wishing he had done a better job of making himself normal before asking her over. Still, he was glad to have her there.

"What have you been up to, while I was away?"

"Oh," Willow inhaled, blinking. Hadn't even told his Slayer he was back?

She cleared her throat. "Not... not too much, really," her mind drifted to a few minor evils Buffy had had to face, nothing major, nothing requiring extraordinary research either. "Just, taking care of research for Buffy. Nothing very interesting. It's like evil decided not to bother since you weren't around," she had intended it as joke, reflecting her respect for his skills, but then realized there had been a reason for him to be stuck in England all that time.

"Yes, that, or perhaps I'm just too good at drawing it – evil," Giles considered, "after me, regardless of location. Though, uh, I can't say there was... m-much danger." Not the best recovery he had ever tried, but he was a bit flustered by too many other things. It was a bit overwhelming.

Willow hoped she hadn't come off too thoughtless in light of his explanation, but she moved on. "Other than that, just continuing with my rituals. Honing my skills a bit."

Giles smiled at her comment, nodding. "I am relieved to hear you all have been safe. I was worried that-ah-well. I thought maybe things would get out of hand without me. I gave myself a bit too much credit, I think. But good! You've been keeping up with your magic? And Buffy, her training? I'm sure she's fine. I'll have to call her. What, ah, what have you been focusing on of late?"

He was trying to be conversational, but he was aware that it was really strange to call her out of the blue, without calling anyone else, just to play catch up. Even he didn't know his ulterior motive as well as he would have liked.

Willow brightened at how enthusiastic he still was about her magic. He was really the only one that understood how important it was to her. Buffy could understand, in the sense that they both had a calling, a natural ability for something (though Willow's wasn't prophetic, there were at least superficial similarities) but not the passion for magic itself. "I've been doing some more with... decursing," she glanced nervously up at him. "Objects only, right now. I know it can be dangerous, but I'm being careful, I promise," she said earnestly. "Besides, the worst thing I've encountered so far, hmm... an old pocketwatch cursed to make the wearer constantly late. I know, that doesn't sound like much... and I said myself, 'Well, maybe it's just running behind!' but I looked at the, the guts of the thing and they were all in order. Then I did my spell, and yep, sure enough. Cursed," she sighed. "The removal gave me a bit of trouble. I ended up sleeping past my next appointment with the owner," she scratched the back of her head. "But that was it. I gave it back and I think it's fine. And I'm fine. And punctual."

"Brilliant! I mean, yes, dangerous, but, exciting!" He laughed, another thing he had missed doing, and moved to his guitar, picking it up and placing it in his lap as he sat down. He leaned forward, to engage her in conversation, just holding the guitar without intention of playing it. "I remember some of my first successful spells. None of them were in any way spectacular. A child with natural proclivity could figure out how to cast them with so much ease, which makes how hard I had studied a bit embarrassing. But really, that elation of being able to do it, alone, was enough to vindicate me from any embarrassment."

Willow devoured his praise, her eyes lit up as soon as he started going on about magic. He looked so at ease, sitting with his guitar, she almost let slip from her mind that he'd been gone so long and the reason behind it. She hadn't had such a spirited discussion about magic in way too long, it was easy to lose herself in the talk of the craft. "It is exciting," she agreed, her nerves ebbing back as her glee came to the forefront. "When I feel the magic welling up within me, more than when I just memorized spells... you know... I feel I'm able to manipulate all the knowledge I've acquired to fit the situation. But it's more than just knowledge. I mean, I might know how to throw a punch - logically, the way to do it - but I could never do it effectively. But for someone like Buffy, the action just comes. That's how it is with magic now. It's such an amazing feeling," she gushed.

Giles leaned back, smiling at her in wonder and with some degree of pride on his handsome face, "I wish I had seen it, honestly."

"When you're settled in, I'll bring my next customer's artifact over. If that's okay. Then I can show you, if you still want to see it," she smiled. She was eager to show off for him, despite her humility.

Giles grinned broadly, "yes, that would be great! I'd like to see the master at work." He nodded his head deeply, as if bowing to her, laughing at how excited she was, because it made him feel better than he had in ages. Being around good, pure magic would be invigorating to him, and to see her practicing it would appeal to many other things for him. Feeling a bit disconcerted when that kind of idea popped into his head, he began to ramble again. "Yet, still a pity to have missed this case. A cursed watch? I've heard of sillier things to get cursed. Honestly, I could imagine how utterly aggravating that must have been for the fellow. Ah! Sorry, I get a bit, ah, nerdy? I've heard you lot call me that-when I get to hear about things like this. I'm very glad you're continuing with your growth as a Witch. You've been such a wonder to teach, and I'm afraid you've far surpassed me now. I won't be able to teach you much of anything." At least not about white magic, he thought to himself with private bitterness. Smiling, he shook his head and leaned back.

Willow didn't like to think he didn't have anything to teach her anymore. It felt a bit like something being taken away from her. One of her excuses to be around him? Perhaps. But she did respect him deeply for his skills, and part of her really didn't want to outshine him, out of modesty. She blinked a few times, unsure of how to express herself.

Giles took the somewhat awkward silence as a cue to go on. "I'm sorry I called you out of nowhere and summoned you here, just to babble. I have to admit, and feel comfortable to do so to you, that it's been quite [i]lonely[/i]. For quite some time. And returning to England, ah, really put a lot of things in perspective. How quickly life can be taken from you, completely changed and ruined is... alarming."

He frowned, not knowing whether he should continue on this path of conversation. It had been years, and now he wanted to bring it up? The agreement they had made? And hadn't he been the one that scolded her for being too attached to him? He really had no right to confuse her again. It was shameful.

"It's okay. I... I really am glad you called," the red-head looked down at her hands, trying to wrap her mind around what he was saying. She hadn't let herself think about the possibilities much in the last couple years, having made herself ignore the yearning she had for him as a defense mechanism. It had caused so many problems in the past. "I imagine that would be a very sobering experience," she said simply after he spoke of change and things being ruined. "I could see how you could, um, gain perspective." She was treading a very delicate line now, so many emotions being held at bay only by sheer will.

Giles picked up his well-worn guitar and strummed at it uselessly, not really producing much sound so much as just feeling the strings under his fingers and going through the motions of tuning and playing a song. He looked at the young Witch, smiling and quickly looking down, when she tried her best to reply to his weird comments. He was being vague and it wasn't fair, but he didn't know how she would react if he told her the full story. So much had changed in those long months away, and he felt the weight of needing to keep it a secret from her. From everyone. He could not bear any of the gang, but Willow particularly, finding out about the things he had done and thinking less of him for it. Because he knew he would deserve their hatred, and that was the most crushing thing.

"Do you want to go out?"


	3. Chapter 3

"If you don't mind Italian, there's a place I'd like to go to. See if it's still there, of course, and if they're still the same. It was one of my favorite places, actually, and I'd love to take you there. Ah, it's nothing fancy so neither of us need change, though I can't help feel I should shave..." Giles rubbed his chin, "I'm sorry I look a mess. Ah. Damn, I left this in, too. In any case, is, uh, now... a good time?" He grinned at her sheepishly, reaching up to take the earring out.

Willow couldn't help but laugh. "I don't know, somehow it suits you," she blushed again, looking away. He said he looked a mess but she thought very much to the contrary. "I wouldn't mind if you go as you are," she mumbled.

Swallowing, Giles felt very much like a high school lad asking a pretty girl out on a first date. And though the ages were a bit wrong, the principle wasn't too far off of the reality. He looked down, bashful.

"Italian sounds fine," Willow said to clear the suddenly awkward silence. Unfortunately with how off her guard she was by the whole situation, if he had suggested the trashiest dive in Sunnydale she would have been at his side without question. Luckily for her, Giles - flustered as he seemed for whatever reasons - still had taste. She was only too happy to provide him the company he so wanted, and touched that he'd chosen her. "I'll tell you everything," she stood, bending forward for a few seconds to pull at her stockings. "As long as it makes you feel better. Buffy was her usual self, of course, but it is always nice to focus on the victories, you have a point there."

Giles smiled, having no trouble picturing the team getting along just fine with out him. It made him proud, albeit a little sad, but he knew they had all grown into strong, amazing people. His Slayer had stayed alive much longer than most, which was in itself an amazing feat. He didn't attribute himself to it too much, knowing Buffy to be exceptionally strong, but he was definitely proud of them all. More so now than ever.

She wanted to tell Giles he shouldn't have worried for them when he obviously had so much of his own to worry about when he'd been away, but she admired that even during his own struggle, his thoughts had been with them. So she didn't say anything. Willow moved closer to him, instead of toward the door as would be logical.

He watched her as she moved closer to him, a bit befuddled. He smiled, placing his hand on Willow's arm. If she liked the way he looked, he was in no hurry to change it, leaving the earring. Reaching for his jacket after an awkward moment of not knowing what to do, he pulled it around his shoulders and managed to highlight how different he looked. He was as handsome as ever, of course, but more rugged and, if the word could possibly make sense, he looked younger. Indicating toward the door with his head, he moved and opened it for her.

"I'm afraid my car was towed while I was away, but I, ah, procured a different method of transportation on my way home. It's a bit uncomfortable, and the restaurant isn't too far, if you'd prefer to walk." He walked outside with her and pointed at a motorcycle sitting in the driveway. It wasn't too flashy, much like its new owner, and looked a bit worn. There was something distinct about it, though what it was couldn't actually be seen and identified.

Willow blinked, looking from the motorcycle back to Giles. Things suddenly felt really different. It was exciting, though, and she felt giddy imagining pulling up at the restaurant on the back of Giles' motorcycle. She walked down the driveway, as if inspecting the vehicle. "No, this is fine," she beamed at him, "looks... fun?"

"It is, surprisingly. I hadn't thought I'd enjoy it so much, as I was quite pressed at the time and it was the only thing available. But, ah, it has its charm," he moved to the bike, picking up the helmet. He only had one, and he offered it to Willow, "I'm afraid I'd rather be the one breaking the law and risking serious injury, if that's okay with you."

He helped her put the helmet on, standing close and carefully brushing her hair from her face before knocking on the top of it to make sure it was working. Smiling at her, he clipped the belt and then moved back to the bike. Turning the engine, he released the stand and held the bike steady with one foot on the floor, holding one hand out to her.

If it had been anyone else, she might have suspected a midlife-crisis, but this was Giles, and he had real problems to worry about. So she had already chalked up his changed appearance to his time in England, and the bike - well, he _had_ said his car had been towed. Still, there were a lot of changes at once and she wondered if she shouldn't at least pay some mind to them. Later, maybe, when her brain had resumed normal functioning, she decided.

"So how do I get on this thing?"

"It's quite easy. Like mounting a horse. Just hold on tight, around my waist, if you're scared. I promise, I'm quite a good driver." He smiled, the motor of the bike purring idly as he waited for her.

Willow perhaps too much liked the feel of his hands on her hair and under her chin as he helped her get the helmet on. She took his hand, and put the other on the seat of the bike for added balance. She swung a leg over and slid on, bunching up the skirts of her dress under her legs so that they wouldn't get caught in anything. She threaded her hands about his waist, pressing herself to his back. "I trust you," she said, though she was a bit anxious about riding on the thing, even more so now that she felt the rumbling of the frame under her, and they hadn't even pulled off yet.

Giles laughed, making sure she was settled and safe before driving off. He drove them to a small diner, making sure not to go too fast despite the impulses. He couldn't help but love the way the bike moved, and the added bonus of having a beautiful girl riding with him didn't help him in his efforts to remember his actual age. Pulling into a parking spot, he stopped the bike and hopped off, playing the gentleman and helping her from it.

"That wasn't so bad, right?" He said with a smile, unclasping the helmet and taking it off. He hooked it to the handlebars, turning back to Willow and playing with her hair a bit. It didn't look too flattened from the short ride. Really, he was just using it as an excuse to be near to her.

Offering her his arm, he led her inside. They were seated by a man that seemed to know Giles quite well, and were soon joined by a chef and a man in a suit. They all spoke to Giles exuberantly, having not seen him for a while, and he introduced them to Willow. They exchanged amused glances and Giles told them to get back to work. Laughter and light teasing about how young she was and how hard he was apparently trying to impress her followed, and soon enough they were being waited on by a woman who also knew Giles. She looked a little less than thrilled that he had brought a date. He had never done that before.

The waitress took their orders and did her best to be nice, though her obvious regard for Giles made it a bit difficult to be as civil as she wanted to towards Willow. She went off to get their food and Giles looked at Willow, embarrassed and sheepish.

"I, uh. Used to come here a lot," he explained, "I've known the owners for years now, and they all, ah... seem to like me around. I apologize for the teasing. That wasn't... appropriate, really. I hope they didn't embarrass or offend you."

In truth, Willow was a bit embarrassed by the teasing. More than that, it made her uncomfortable at how they assumed she was his date, and not just an old friend. That's all she was, right? The reactions to the two of them being out together confused her, made her remember all the time she had spent wishing for something like this to happen - to go on a date with him, or well, just have him acknowledge the idea of a relationship. But she had spent almost equally enough time trying to make herself see how futile the hope she nurtured had been, and to be put into this situation where nobody knew about their complicated past but still – if even lightheartedly - insinuated things about them, it flustered her.

It bothered her the most when they commented on her age, that stung because it reminded her that even after all these years, she was still so young next to him. There was still just as much of a gap between them in years, though she liked to think she had done a lot of maturing in those years. She'd gone from being a naive teenager to a woman in her mid-20s, but it was like that didn't seem to matter. It wasn't fair for her to read into the comments like that, though, to taint them with her own thoughts and troubles, and she knew she had to have thicker skin, so she tried to put on a positive face.

She patted Giles' arm. "It's okay, really," she reassured him, "though I couldn't help but notice how that waitress was looking at me," she bowed her head, laughing nervously. She didn't feel like asking if there was a more specific reason for that or if the waitress was simply fond of him on her own.

"Ah yes. She's always had a crush on me, I suspect, though honestly that's quite... unbecoming of her. She's married. Has been for years. I suppose she's just a bit territorial. She never lets anyone else serve me when I come here, and actually got mad a few times when I was here on her days off. It's a bit silly, really," he laughed, shaking his head and looking thoughtful.

Glancing around, he smiled at the cozy setting. It was quiet, subdued, and rather unnoticeable against the larger, more romantically viewed restaurants of the area. But it fit Giles perfectly. He felt like it was far too underrated for how utterly romantic it was, though he couldn't share the idea out loud without looking like a goon. He had a thing for what others thought mundane or boring, and he knew that. Books, libraries, antiques, little home-run diners: they each had their own brand of romance around them that the Watcher appreciated.

"Well, I'm glad this place is the same as you left it, anyway," Willow looked up again. "You said you were worried about that."

"In any case, the food here is very nice. I, uh, I wanted to bring you here a couple of times, over the years, but never worked up the nerve or found the appropriate time. And then I yelled at you for something I very well shouldn't have, and then vanished for months on end. I apologize for all of that. I know I'm... I've been difficult."

Willow, too, had noticed the subtle romantic appeal of the restaurant, though she had been doing her best not to think too much about it. Until he started apologizing, and admitted that he had wanted to bring her here before. She was forced to face her feelings, address the things he said in words. The last time hadn't gone so well, when he'd scolded her jealous behavior before he left for England, and the whole subject was so emotionally charged that it was difficult to talk about even without that added experience. Still, though, he _had_ apologized, and though she dreaded mistaking it for more than what it was - after all, he could just be concerned for her feelings, without his own opinion having changed - it did seem like a rather pointed attempt to get to talking about their interpersonal issues.

"Shouldn't have yelled at me? Giles, I was out of line," she started, shaking her head, "it's... it's not my place to have a say in your life," she pursed her lips, "as much I used to think it should be. Still think... oh," she sighed, raking a hand through her pretty red hair. She didn't want to make a mess of this, or rehash everything she had said before, so she addressed the next point.

"I know you had to leave, it was important, and- and I'm sure you had reasons for keeping out of contact with us, so don't think I blame you for that." That much was true, as hard as it had been to deal with his absence, she suspected the matter had been out of his control, for the most part. "It-it seems like you don't want to talk about it, though, so that's all I'll say."

Giles nodded, looking down at the table distantly. He was thinking about the events in England, unsure of what he was ready to share with her. He looked at her, smiling thinly, and he shook his head with a sigh.

"I understand where your concern for my choices comes from. I must admit, though I never let you see it, I was a bit flustered whenever I heard you were on a date," he didn't know how to say what he wanted to point out. How he understood that if he was having trouble with it, he imagined it must have been much more difficult for her. But how could he say that without looking like a jerk? He shook his head, "I think it's foolish to pretend we don't have some stake in one-another's lives. We... always will, I daresay, depending on... how the future unfolds from here."

Willow nodded through his explanation, certain key things he said causing those feelings in her to well up from where they were supposed to be suppressed. Depending on how the future unfolded? _He_ had been flustered about her inconsequential dates? She had worried herself so much over the thought that he had all but lost interest in the agreement they had made all those years ago. It had been so long, and she often felt idiotic for blindly carrying a torch for him... but she couldn't change how she felt. Now she wondered if, maybe, the time had finally come, but she didn't want to get her hopes up. Maybe he would just tell her, despite their bond, he still wasn't ready. She didn't know. Everything was still so complicated. She prodded at her food with her fork until she was ready to speak.

He frowned, not liking how enigmatic he was being. Rubbing the back of his neck, he smiled as their food was served and they were left once more to talk. Or, more reasonably, eat. He played with his food, but dark memories had settled on him and he was finding it difficult to concentrate.

"I was called away to settle a matter with the Council," he said vaguely, "they believed me responsible for something and... ah... I had to show them that I wasn't involved. It got a bit complicated. In any case, there's a lot that I'm not proud of, and I worry that I may... I may still be in some trouble. I wish I could explain it to you, but I don't... I'm just worried you, if you don't already because of everything else, may... stop liking me..."

"You know I want to help you, if you're in any trouble," she said, moving pasta sauce around on her plate. "I... it's been seven years, Giles. I don't know what you could say that would change my feelings," she smiled, but it was marked with sadness. "Maybe it's stupid and I'm just living in a fantasy land, but I never stopped... liking... you," she was hesitant to use the stronger word. "It's been incredibly hard, but I value our- friendship. I want to know what happened, when you're ready to tell me. You don't have to deal with, with whatever is troubling you, on your own. I want to be there for you, when you decide the time is right," she sighed.

Giles frowned at his plate, then nodded. He wanted to tell her, but now he didn't think the setting was right. Irony was a cruel mistress. He looked up when her comment of how long it had been sank in, though it was a little while after she had said it. He drew a breath. Seven years. He felt horrible for that, very acutely, when he saw she was doing her best to downplay her feelings for him, even then. And he had selfishly made her wait, all the while knowing he had no idea what they were waiting for.

"I value you," he said, not bothering with the word 'friendship', "much more than I've been letting on. It's been so long since... that night, I can't honestly believe it. It feels strange to even be talking about it now, like it's still relevant or binding. I can't imagine how bitter with me you must have been at some points, forcing you to wait for any kind of sign from me that it... it did, in fact, mean as much to me as it did you. I don't suppose I feel very much like giving signs or being subtle any more. But telling you now is just as selfish as keeping you waiting, isn't it?"


	4. 7 Years Ago Part 1

7 Years Ago – Part 1

Willow bounded through the library double doors and tossed her backpack onto a table. She was anxious to get to work on researching the latest demonic force plaguing Sunnydale, to try to find out how it could be stopped. She unzipped her bag and pulled out a few pages of loose printouts.

"Giles?" she called.

He was in the stacks, re-arranging some of the books back there. He heard a familiar voice and lost the slight hope that it was actually some student looking for a book. Teenagers of this age didn't read, he reminded himself. Why did he keep tricking himself into believing they might?

Maybe he was just an optimist.

Giles sighed, standing and dusting off the knees of his tweed ensemble, grabbing his jacket on the way out. Sometimes he wondered if he needed to update his wardrobe a bit, but he felt he might as well dress like what he was. A stuffy, British librarian.

"Ah, Willow, hello there," he called, walking down from the upper level and smiling genially at her. He put his coat over the back of a chair, placed the books on the table and looked at her expectantly. "Find anything interesting?"

Over the last few months, she had started to take small pleasure in the way he looked at her, as he was now. She knew it was just because they were researching together, that his expression of interest was due to their work and his position as something of a mentor to her, to all the Scoobies really. But still. He paid attention to her and she liked that. It wasn't as if she slacked off on the research just because she had other reasons for wanting to be around him, she insisted to herself, it was just an added bonus.

"I found a few rituals for casting circles to protect from demons," she scrunched her eyebrows as she handed over the small stack of papers, "and a couple articles from obscure occult texts that seem to mesh with what we already know about the demons that have popped up here lately, but nothing really in-depth."

Adjusting the glasses on his nose, he riffled through the pages she offered. He hummed to himself as he digested the information, nodding as what new things she had found clicked with what he had been researching. Giles, of course, was completely oblivious to any ulterior motive for her being so helpful to him. He found her delightful, and her honest interest in the arcane refreshing. She was much like he was, he imagined, once he had sorted himself out after his rebellious years. Dutiful, interested, and adept. She, it seemed, even more so than he had been. He had worked for years at being the mage he had become, while she had a natural proclivity to magic that he imagined would, in short order, surpass his skills.

"Um, have you had any luck figuring out what sort of demons we're dealing with?"

He removed his glasses in thought. "I've narrowed it down. They seem to be the product of a summoning, and for that they are much weaker in body and mental capacity than a naturally, ah, born demon. If we find the initial summoner, who I would believe is casting these creatures in his own image, we should be able to put an end to them. I've not yet divined his purpose for summoning them, however. Besides, uhm, general chaos." He stopped, noting he was babbling. Again. The gang often gave him flack for that. "Thank you for your help so far, Willow. I'm afraid you and I seem to be the only ones even the slightest bit concerned here."

"Oh, it's no problem, I just want to get to the bottom of this too," she said. "It's interesting you say the summoner is... well casting these demons in his own image? Sounds pretty narcissistic."

Giles laughed.

"Most demons, despite how revolting they may appear to us, take a great deal of pride in their appearance. As much as any human, it seems, and then some. Add to that the fact that they generally like being fearsome, and it isn't all that surprising that a demon who thinks highly of himself might go about making copies of himself. Not clones, per se, because they are only a fraction of his strength. That, of course, is the worrisome part. These demononic, well, copies, are strong enough to kill humans with ease, which makes me wonder how strong the original is."

"How would we stop him if we found him, anyway? Send Buffy to beat him up?" She knew it wouldn't always be that easy, but so far when the two of them had worked magic, it had always taken a backseat to Buffy springing into action. A part of Willow wanted to be able to use her burgeoning skills more proactively, perhaps as a way to show she wasn't always going to be the meek sidekick of the Slayer.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he took to a chair heavily – long hours spent researching were taking a toll on him. Glancing up to regard Willow casually, he spoke.

"Well, I would imagine that would be our first choice. I've a feeling, however, that we might have to be a bit more clever in dealing with this demon. It clearly has a penchant for magic, which might be a viable way of defeating it. Every magic, after all, has its weakness. There's balance in mystical energy, even if it _is_ used for chaos."

Willow thought over his words. She was impressed that he could lay out such a cogent theory at this stage, with what little information they had managed to uncover.

"Magic, magic," she repeated. "Maybe a binding spell or..." she glanced at him, treading lightly with what she said next, knowing it was a loaded topic, "well, you have more experience with demons... how exactly could we counter it with magic? Where can we even start looking?" she cast her gaze around the library, suddenly overwhelmed.

Giles smiled at her curiosity, nodding and standing slowly. He stretched a bit, rolling his head back and then dropping it forward and shaking it in an effort to wake himself up. Replacing his glasses, he looked at her from above the rims.

"That is a very good question," he admitted. He hadn't quite gotten that far, yet, though he wished he had an answer for her. He didn't like not having answers. Moving to stand closer to her, Giles offered her one of the books he had brought with him from the back. "I was just going to research a bit more, if you'd be interested. Magic is a bit more complicated, because spells are never limited to one use. An adept mage can manipulate basic spells into something far more potent, and it's difficult to assess - at least, without seeing his process - just what this demon is capable of. I'm assuming he's using a fairly common, though rarely successful, summoning spell for his purposes. It's, ah," he opened the book for her, letting her hold it as he skipped to the page, "here."

Willow's hands trembled even as she gripped the book. He was so close to her, but she kept her focus on his hands as he turned the pages. It was safer than looking him in the eye right now.

"We might be able to find some way to counter it. If not, we might have to dispel the copies themselves before we can get to the original caster."

"O-okay," she nodded, willing herself to have presence of mind. "There must be a way to, to maybe draw the clones out so that we can get all of them before going for the big bad demon guy. I'm _definitely_ interested in more research," she added, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. She couldn't stop herself from smiling at the idea of spending more time with him, so instead she turned and sat herself down at the table, reading the page he had indicated.

Giles nodded at her enthusiasm, grinning crookedly. It was an awkward smile, like he didn't quite understand what had just happened, but found it funny anyway. He shook his head and picked up a book for himself, one that was decidedly larger and with unfamiliar (at least to anyone who didn't read multiple languages) writing inside. He sometimes liked to pace as he read, which he was unconsciously doing now.

"Yes, drawing them out together might be best, if we could set up a sort of trap. An incantation circle, of sorts. That might serve our purposes well, if we could simply herd them into it and be done with the lot. Better than fighting them all individually, to be sure, though I have no doubt Buffy could handle them for quite some time if she had to. My worry is wearing her down before confronting the original caster himself."

It was almost as if he was speaking mostly for his own benefit, sometimes mumbling, sometimes starting his sentences in the middle. He liked having someone there he could just babble at, someone in front of whom he could get all of his ideas out of his head and begin to organize them... instead of someone like Xander, who constantly asked annoying, pointless questions. Or made jokes about it all. Now Giles could appreciate a good wit, but he did not like the implications that his job was rather trivial.

Willow found the passages that she could concentrate on to be interesting and quite helpful. Unfortunately every few moments she was distracted with the sounds of Giles' footfalls on the library floor, and the sound of his voice as he spun ideas out like thread over time. Every so often she stole a sheepish glance of him, hoping he wouldn't notice. She took in the pattern of his tie, the way his oxford collar was so neatly pressed. Then she'd go back to thinking of a way that they could cast some sort of circle to entrap the demon 'clones.'

The Watcher rubbed at his eyes after some time had passed, and looked at Willow. His head tilted with sudden curiosity, "you seem to be spending much more time here than usual. Th-than the others, in any case. Ah. Any specific reason for that? I do hope you're not in a tiff with any of them."

The direct question made her fidget a bit.

"Um, uhh," she struggled for words, "I just thought I could help you more now- now that I'm studying witchcraft, I mean," she stammered. Suddenly her mind turned to something else. What if this was a hint that he was becoming annoyed by her presence? What if he really preferred to work alone and she was just getting in the way? She looked at him with a tinge of fear, her next thought spilling out of her mouth with some urgency. "I'm not bothering you, am I?"

Giles looked a bit surprised, shaking his head and offering her a comforting, easy smile. He closed his book and strode to the table, speaking as he moved.

"No, not at all. Of course not," he leaned on the table, in that 'not-quite-a-teacher-but-trying-hard' kind of way he had. He wanted to be authoritative, but had often felt it was completely ineffectual. Particularly with members of the Scooby gang. He sighed and stood up straight, putting his hands in the pockets of his pants instead.

"I'm glad for your help, and your interest in witchcraft. Though, I must say I might come off as a bit overbearing and protective as you progress. I'm afraid I'm far too familiar with the concepts for my own good, and I can't imagine not worrying constantly about how far you delve. I'm sure I've already told you how careful you must be. Anyway, I'm sorry if I made you think you were annoying me. Quite the opposite, in fact. It's nice to have a similar mind around, and not one like, say, Xander or Cordelia." He laughed, playfully, then looked a bit worried, "Don't, ah, mention that I... said that."

"Scout's honor," Willow gave a goofy mock-salute. Really, though, the idea of Giles being comfortable enough around her to air such a grievance made her blush. All of the things he had said about looking out for her weren't helping much in that regard either. "I'm glad I'm not being a bother," she chewed on her pen absently, "I just really like being around you. You know so much about everything, and there's so much for me to learn... you make me feel safe."

She wasn't sure she had wanted to say all of that, or even say it quite in that way, but she had. It was hard keeping it all in, now a little bit had slipped out, but perhaps it could be seen innocently enough.

Giles smiled warmly.

"Well, I'm glad. Those two don't need any more reason to rebel against me. They find enough excuse for it as it is. Actually giving them reason would be more than devastating." He shook his head and laughed. He did like them, in their own ways, but only in limited capacities. At least Willow he could stay in company with for a while and not get frazzled.

"Safe? Well. That's certainly good to hear. Apparently people who work at this school are supposed to have some kind of authority about them, and thus instill a sense of comfort in their students. I don't think it often manifest in librarians however. Still, there are certainly worse things I could make you feel." He said absently, getting distracted by a passage in another book before the sudden lack of conversation made him look to Willow once again.

"You've gone red. Do you need some air?"

Her eyes went wide. "Air? You know, I probably should," she squeaked and pushed out her chair. She walked quickly from the library, down the corridor, and up the stairs out to the balcony. She wanted to run but she made herself walk. Speed walking, true, but it would be better than bolting out of his sight.

Oh God. Willow clung to the railing and leaned over the edge, feeling the cool afternoon breeze on her face. She really needed to act less wiggy. She certainly wasn't giving off a very stable vibe, but she could only imagine what he'd chalk it up to. And why was it all tumbling out of her now? How terrible! It was like she'd reached a catalyst where she couldn't keep her own secrets anymore. But no, no, she would have to. She wanted to be around him and if she made him uncomfortable how would that work to her advantage? It wouldn't.

Her face was still burning but she was determined to get herself together before she went back.

Giles blinked, clearly he was missing something here. He wondered what he had managed to do, rerunning the conversation in his head quickly, to check for something inappropriate or offensive. He couldn't think of anything, and it bothered him. He rubbed the back of his neck, closing the book and waiting patiently for her return.

When she did, he offered he a comforting smile, not realizing that his direct attention was the last thing she needed. "Are you feeling okay? I don't think I've ever seen you move quite so quickly before. And after our discussion of how you might actually like being here, I was a bit concerned. You can go, if you like, you've been more than a help. I wouldn't want to keep you here against your will."

He noted that she was still a bright shade of red, but he didn't comment on it.

"No, no," she put a hand up as if to wave away the idea that she didn't want to be there, though her voice wavered as she went on and she had to take a seat immediately, "I... do _want_ to be here. I'm feeling fine," she sighed, "I was feeling fine- B-but when you smile at me like that," suddenly she was breathless, and she had to look away from him, wishing she hadn't said anything. She was going to ruin everything, why did she have to be so neurotic about this?

Giles looked a bit surprised, a classic 'ah ha' moment taking him suddenly. He cleared his throat, looking down at the book in his hand as if it might offer him a bit of guidance now. He knew he needed to say something, being the adult and all, but he didn't really feel all that put off. Students, he knew, were liable to find themselves attracted to their teachers. It wasn't uncommon, and while he was no teacher he was still someone who offered Willow a lot of guidance and spent a great deal of time with her. He wanted to smile at her, disarming and comforting, but noted that smiles, it seemed, were a danger zone.

"Ah, well, I'll do my best to keep my 'serious book face' on, when we're in company, hm? Wouldn't want you to constantly resemble a strawberry around me, after all." He didn't seem nonplussed, though he wasn't putting on a front. He didn't want to dance around it and make it awkward for the both of them. He also didn't want to presume too much. Maybe she was just having a weird day, and he was just in the right place at the right time. Or wrong, depending on who was asked.

His green eyes were soft and warm, and he made a silly face in his effort not to grin at her, not quite purposefully, "I think it's probably best if you call it a day. Or... night. Whatever time it is."

Willow was eternally grateful for the man's tact. "O-okay," she began to pack her bag, "I'll finish reading up tonight, and... and maybe by tomorrow you'll have found out a way to get all of the lesser demons together to perform the spell," she said, trying to be rational. She wanted him to be clear that whatever her issues were, she was still devoted to solving the problem before them.

Giles smiled at her, despite his previous resolve not to. He laughed at himself, shaking his head and nodding, "yes, yes, I'm sure we'll figure something out. I'm sure there's some way to appeal to their simplistic nature, some sort of lure to bring them together. Clones often act of one mind, and are fairly simplistic... ah, right. You're leaving. And I'm droning on. We'll resume tomorrow, don't fret."


	5. 7 Years Ago Part 2

7 Years Ago – Part 2

Willow felt a chill run through her in the darkness of the abandoned building. It had been decided that this would be the best place for the banishing ritual, it was out of the way enough so that no innocent bystanders would be in harms way, as long as Buffy brought the demons to them without incident.

Willow had watched earlier as Giles and Buffy discussed the practicalities of the plan before setting out. Buffy was given a charm to wear that would act as an attractant to the demons, and she'd bring them back to the circle, where all Willow and Giles needed to do was dispel them while they were temporarily held. It seemed straightforward enough.

Willow set up a few candles around the chalk outline on the dirty wood floor. In the flickering of the flames, Giles looked dark and mysterious. The shadows exaggerated the lines that had come from age and wisdom. Less the cautious librarian and more ready for action on this night.

Giles was wearing a long, black coat, and decided to skip the scarf he often wore with his 'graveyard' attire. He kept the coat drawn about him, collar up, which, if he could have heard Willow's appraisal of his looks, only added to the air of mystery about him.

Really, he was just a bit chilly.

"A-am I doing this right?" the young Witch asked.

"Yes, that's perfect," he said, looking around cautiously. He didn't like the idea, of course, of sending Buffy in there alone with just a charm to keep her safe, but that was the best plan he had managed to come up with. And it seemed simple enough. But he had been around them and involved in enough of their capers to know that nothing ever went so easily, however simple it was to plan. They would need to keep their guards up.

"You'll just need to stand back, behind me, for the incantation. You know the verses you need, right? I, ah, committed them to memory but it's fine if you read from the book. In fact, texts are often enchanted when a spell is writ down, and reading directly from them often adds potency to the-ah, I'm babbling again."

He rolled his eyes at himself, wondering how long he would have to stand around nervously, hoping not to be attacked, before Buffy brought the demons to them.

"Right, the verses," she said as she stooped down to her bag and dug through the contents. "I have them bookmarked," she assured him, standing up with a book in hand. She was trying to act calm and prepared, but she was scared and shivering slightly as the evening chill permeated the building completely. She'd come face to face with all sorts of evil things, but the waiting was making it seem much worse. She shifted nervously from side to side, trying to peer out one of the dingy windows in case Buffy was coming their way.

"So," she said to break the silence, "Are you worried about vampires sneaking up on us too?" She pointed at his upturned collar, shielding his neck, a rather goofy grin now on her face.

Giles tented his eyebrows, looking around in concern.

"Well, no, I hadn't been..." Giles said, ruffled, "but I'm certainly worried about it now, thank you for that. Ah, no, I don't think there would be any vampire activity out here." He was more convincing himself of that than her, he knew, but he tried to say it in a way that was authoritative. He grinned at her, shaking his head and reaching up to remove his glasses. He cleaned them whenever he was nervous, among other times of duress.

And then he realized she was teasing him.

"Oh, yes, I see your point. Ah. Well," he reached up and turned his collar down, trying to look dignified as he did so. He noticed her shivering and shrugged the heavy coat off, slipping it around her shoulders in a purely chivalrous gesture. He was British, after all. He could handle some cold. It was in his blood.

Willow inhaled sharply. She had only meant to make a joke, to ease her anxiety in this situation, but the feeling of his hands on her shoulders, however brief the contact, excited her. She nuzzled into the coat, slipping her arms into the sleeves that were much too long, rolling them up so that she could still get to her book. The coat smelled of him, his dignified yet muted scent, the smell of starch and laundry detergent and aftershave, or was it maybe cologne? Her head swam. She struggled to stay focused.

"When Buffy comes, don't wait for a cue from me," he said, jumping back to business, "just start reading the moment the first demon steps within the circle. We don't have time to faff about, I'd wager. I'll handle the rest."

"I won't... let Buffy down," she vowed, though she worried equally about his approval as much as she worried about Buffy remaining safe through the dangerous act of luring the demons in.

Soon there was the sound of rustling in the undergrowth outside, and Willow gasped. Footsteps were pounding closer, and she snapped open the book, her heart pounding.

Giles focused, his face growing serious and determined. He moved his hand to his side, making sure Willow was behind him as the sounds moved closer. Buffy exploded from the bushes, a demon on her heels. Right away Giles noticed something was wrong. But he waited for the demon to step into the circle, and along with Willow he began the incantation in a powerful, confident voice. A voice that didn't tremble or stammer like he often did. This was serious.

And it wasn't working.

The demon barreled forward, sneering at them before opening its wicked maw in a thunderous growl.

Giles realized what had happened.

"That's the original, not a copy!" He yelled, angry and scared. He grabbed Willow and pulled her close as the demon swung its powerful fist and landed a blow, slamming into Giles back. If he hadn't moved, it probably would have been the Witch's face.

The thud of the demon's fist was followed by the tensing of Giles' body, so close she could feel it. The impact sent them sprawling to the ground. Giles was atop of Willow as though to shield her, and Buffy was left to fight the demon off.

It eventually retreated, but the mission was a failure.

"Are you all right?" Willow asked anxiously as Giles rolled over with a groan. She put her hands on his shoulders to help him to a sitting position, wanting to take a look at his back where the demon had struck him.

Giles winced, shaking his head. "I'm fine," he said, "At least I'm still conscious."

"Buffy," she searched the darkness before her eyes settled upon the Slayer, who was jogging back to them. A sense of relief welled within her that there was no sign of the demon. That relief didn't last long though, because Giles' words about the demon being the original were finally starting to sink in. They were essentially back to where they had started. No progress. Buffy had been put in danger for nothing, and Giles had had to protect Willow and instead got himself injured... all for nothing. She was shaking.

It had been a fairly intense ordeal, but the demon hadn't seemed interested in a big fight. At least not yet. Judging by its strength, he imagined it was more than capable of holding its own against all three of them if it wanted to. He patted Willow on the arm, trying to look reassuring as he struggled to stand up.

Willow's eyes were filled with concern as she watched his face register pain. She was still in a state of mild confusion, not expecting anything like what had happened to, well, happen.

"Back to the drawing board, I suppose," he grunted.

"I guess we're lucky it ran off," Buffy said in response to Giles' astute observation of the demon's strength. They needed more time to prepare, now - it seemed like they weren't going to have luck going after the clones if the original was intent on being drawn out.

Giles sighed almost apologetically at Buffy before offering Willow his hand. He had been the one to get, essentially, punched in the back, but he still wanted to help her up. "Sorry about, ah... crushing you."

Willow took his hand gratefully, letting him pull her to his feet, caught up in the sensation of his warm fingers wrapping around hers momentarily. "I didn't... didn't really mind," she answered his apology without thinking. The moonlight streamed in from the open door, and after gathering up her supplies and shoving them into her backpack, she fell in behind Buffy and Giles as they lead the way out of the building.

The Watcher was too busy grumbling to the Slayer to really hear Willow's awkward comment. His attention was on the failures of the evening. He was irritated by how poorly things went, and by the fact that he had managed to get bruised despite not being the one that was supposed to be fighting. He complained at Buffy, asking her how she managed to find the original with so many clones around, and the two discussed a few things as they walked. He let the Slayer off without too much hassle, knowing it wasn't her fault.

He was just in pain. And he got grumpy when he was in pain.

Their path took them past Ravello Drive, and they said goodnight to Buffy as she made her way home.

Giles looked back at Willow, smiling softly, his expression softening at the obvious concern on her face. He slowed to walk next to her.

"You should put some ice on that," Willow offered meekly.

He shook his head, laughing at the suggestion, "I'm sure I'll try, though reaching it might be a bit tough. My arms tend not to bend in that way, unless under some sort of... torturous force." He scoffed, teasing himself.

"I... could help you," she offered, swinging her arms about as they walked, feeling that she had to say something and yet being uneasy about it at the same time. "With the ice pack, I mean. It's only fair, you got hurt because of me," she scratched her head, "Besides, maybe we can do some more research. Did Buffy have any insights? It's, it's really not that late." She bounced back and forth between the topics, finding her brain lagging behind her mouth.

Willow fretted, did she sound too eager? She would understand if he refused, but she found herself lately being unable to at least _try_ to ingratiate herself to him.

Giles laughed, "I might take you up on that offer. Ah, to help research, in any case. I'm a bit at a loss. It's disconcerting that the spell had absolutely no affect on that demon at all. I'm afraid that might be more telling than either you or Buffy know, but I need to consult my books a bit more first, before I'm certain."

It might not have been that late, but he was tired. Irritated that things couldn't have been simple for once, and he was in no mood to hit the books again so soon. But he knew he had to, that it was expected of him and, really, it was his job. He would do what he had to, though he wasn't going to be too happy in the morning.

"I think it best if you go home and rest. An early night is rare, as I'm sure you've noticed. I'm sure I can manage to tend to myself," he patted her on the shoulder and motioned ahead. Without either of them having noticed in the process, it seemed he had walked Willow to her own home. After seeing her safely off, he continued on to his own place.

Giles got to his apartment in short order, and was quick to peel off his vest and shirts in order to try and see what damage had been caused. Using a hand mirror he stood with his back to a larger one, peering at it in the hand mirror. It was dark and ugly, skin slightly split over his spine from the impact. He sighed, then blinked.

He had left his coat with Willow.


	6. 7 Years Ago Part 3

7 Years Ago – Part 3

After Giles had went on his own way, Willow slipped back outside into the night. Despite the obvious danger in staying outdoors, she didn't quite feel like going to sleep yet. Part of it was that her mind was still running around, considering all of the things that had happened. The demon that they had failed to stop, could it have been that she had botched some part of the ritual? No, she convinced herself as she circled the block again, Giles had made it clear that it was the original, stronger demon that had showed up and they simply hadn't counted on that one revealing itself to them so soon.

It was on the third time she'd gone around the block that she decided she had probably better at least try to go to bed. She reached for the knob of the front door, only to find that the sleeves of the coat had slipped back down around her hands and obscured her grip. Giles' coat. Her eyebrows furrowed. She pushed the door open and made her way to her room. She shrugged off his coat onto her bed, emptying her backpack of magical items and replacing her school things while she pondered what to do. Surely, the rational thing to do would be take his coat to school with her and hand it over to him in the library the next day.

Unfortunately for the part of her that knew she shouldn't be indulging her emotions, that coat provided a perfect opportunity to check up on Giles _that night_, with a nearly foolproof excuse. If she called, he would probably tell her not to bother with it that night, out of consideration; but if she just went he wouldn't have a chance. She grabbed a windbreaker from her closet and slipped it over her head before folding the heavy coat over her arms and leaving her bedroom. Willow felt unusually devious as she fairly skipped back down her porch and headed down the street in the general direction of Giles' apartment complex.

She knocked tentatively on his door, worried for a moment that he might have already gone to sleep, since it had been some time since they had parted for the evening - but then again this was Giles, she wouldn't be surprised if he had stayed up to get some research in.

"Willow! What are you doing here so late? I thought we agreed there was no need to... ah, my coat. Ah, p-please come in," he stepped aside, smiling and offering her the entryway. He noticed he didn't have a sleeve on his arm as he held it out, and yelped slightly as he crossed his arms over his chest protectively.

Willow tried not to stare. Had she woken him up after all?

"God lord, I'm sorry. Just a bit... sleepy. L-let me go find a shirt. How indecent."

"I'm sorry for showing up so late," she apologized hastily, as she walked inside. "For d-disturbing you," she stammered as she closed the door behind her. She had definitely not expected to see him quite so _exposed_, and it made her head spin with fragments of dreamy fantasy. The half-hearted promise she had made to herself on the way to simply return the coat and make sure he wasn't hurt _too_ badly, faded from her mind. She took a deep breath. Willow was ashamed at how weak she was at fighting her emotions in his presence.

She caught sight of the wound on his back before he made his way up the stairs. "Ouch," she said softly to herself, her brows knitting in concern. He'd gotten that defending her, and she felt terrible seeing it now, it looked much worse than he had let on earlier.

Willow slipped off her windbreaker and set both that and his coat on the arm of the sofa. She scooped up an armful of papers and books from one of the cushions, making room for herself to sit while she waited. She deposited the papers on the coffee table, but a yellow legal pad attracted her attention. Curious, she picked it up and flipped through it, admiring his script and meticulous notations. Willow's fingertips trailed over the page as she read.

Giles returned shortly, buttoning up the last few slots of his shirt as he came back into the room. He had combed his messy hair a bit, and looked a lot less like he had just woken up now. He folded his arms over his chest, standing near the sofa and looking down at the young witch, head slightly tilted. He wondered why she couldn't have just brought the coat to school, or whenever they had scheduled to next meet up. It wasn't like they didn't see each other every day.

Her head snapped up. "I was looking through your work," she admitted sheepishly, holding out the notepad. It wasn't really her place to be going through his things.

"Ah, that's fine. I'm afraid I haven't made much headway. Or, at least, nothing that isn't... ah... troubling. I hope to find a few more solutions, rather than all these mounting problems before the night is up," he said with a sigh, shaking his head and sounding as if he didn't believe he would succeed.

"How are you feeling?"

He scoffed a bit and tried to shrug it off as nothing.

"Just a bruise, really," he said, moving and easing himself into his arm chair. He was tired, and should probably just call it a night, but he was perturbed by his findings so far and knew there would be no rest for his active mind until he literally just passed out again while working. It was strange, how used to that he had become. He looked at Willow wearily, smiling, eyes dark but warm, "still, I'm glad it didn't hit you."

He sighed, leaning forward and picking up one of his books, of which there were quite a few. He flipped through it, opening to a page he had marked with a piece of paper, never one to bend the corner of the pages. He rubbed his eyes, readjusted his glasses, and sighed, "I'm afraid we may be approaching this from the wrong angle. The more I research the demon himself, the more I come to see that his is more than a passing interest in magic, dark magic particularly. It may well be out of Buffy's capabilities."

He looked up at her, realizing this exchange wasn't just one of their meetings in the library, "I shouldn't keep you, though, with it being so late. We can discuss it with the others, tomorrow, I'm sure."

"No!" Willow was surprised at the force of her voice after he suggested she go home. She couldn't just leave him like that, drowning in books trying to find an answer alone, probably in some pain and getting next to no sleep. "I want to help, Giles, this is... too serious, dark magic?" she went on, "I can't believe you think Buffy can't handle it, if that's really true, then we need to figure something out fast." She wasn't thinking straight, it wasn't as if she could possibly help unlock the answer _that night_, and talking it over with the others the next day would lead to more of them being able to research, more heads put to the problem, but still. She was scared and over emotional and being around Giles was comforting, the idea of helping him was dear to her and she didn't want to be rushed out even if leaving right then really was for the best.

Giles looked at her serenely, sensing there was more going on here than he had first noticed. Though he knew she had an honest interest in helping him, so he decided to stick with that. He smiled, disarming and friendly, tilting his head at her and nodding slowly.

"Don't worry, I'm sure we'll think of something," he said, with perfectly reasonable confidence. He didn't want to make her panic, and he knew he had chosen his words poorly already. They didn't need to be leaping to conclusions, just because he didn't like what he was reading. Maybe Buffy was perfectly capable of defeating it. After all, she had lived through a prophecy that dictated she die. If she could handle that, he needed to give her more credit.

Still, he couldn't help but feel anxious. He didn't want her rushing into something she had no hope of fighting. Slayers were not often trained in magic, simply because it was dangerous. Magic was unpredictable, intoxicating, and easy to get caught up in. Betrayed by. It was all too easy to fall prey to the power, and let it take control. But this demon was a magic user, and had built up its physical defenses deftly. Giles knew it was too strong, in both fields. They needed magic here.

He leaned back in his seat, making a noise as his back met the sofa. It was bruised and tender, and he had almost forgotten about it in his thoughts. He was quick to lean forward again, wincing and heaving a profoundly annoyed sigh.

Willow rose from the sofa and went to his side, perching herself on the arm of his chair. Gingerly, she placed a hand on his shoulder. He wouldn't be able to deny his pain now that she had seen it clearly etched on his face, even for just a moment.

Giles reached up and patted her hand as she placed it on his shoulder, nodding slowly.

"I believe there is a spell," he said, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes, "that it may be weakened by. Unfortunately it is... it's not something I would ever cast around you, and the others. The problem with darker magicks is how they get inside your head. I've learned a number of spells the Council would be less that thrilled to know about, thinking to myself that they are 'last resorts'. Just in case. But when things get dire it's easy to turn to them more and more, and find them justified."

He was pensive now, considering his options. His experience with dark magic had been fun at the time, but he knew better than to consider it good. There were always reasons such spells were forbidden, or conveniently lost, or forgotten by most mages. They were reckless, untrustworthy, and dangerous.

"There must be some other way to fight it, without having to resort to such depths. I... I'm afraid I just haven't found it yet." He sounded strained, but amiable. He was trying to speak gently, not wanting to stress her out more than he had to. He knew she was young, and just learning, but he also knew she was one of the most adept apprentices he had, outside of Buffy herself. And magic was their shared area. She was the only one he could really discuss it with, because she innately understood the push and pull of magic within a person.

"We can still look for other ways," Willow said, though she accepted the very real possibility that they might have to resort to dark magic. She had no direct experience with it, only having read of its danger and seduction, though she knew Giles had dabbled in it in the past. It worried her that he might be forced to use it again, but she would help him through it if need be. And she trusted him, he wouldn't jump into something like that without considering every possible alternative. "But if it comes to using dark magic," she looked at him seriously, "I know you have only the best intentions... you wouldn't do something so dangerous without good reason... well, I mean, I just have faith in you, Giles."

Willow's small hand played lightly over the back of his shirt. "You should have ice on this," she said softly, frowning at the heat should could feel coming from the area of the wound. "Let me get it for you."

He winced again as he felt her hand move, grunting a laugh. "I did have an ice pack on it, actually, but I ah... dozed off and it ended up in... an uncomfortable place. Quite the wake up call, that. But don't fret, it's just tender now, being fresh. I'm sure by morning I'll be perfectly fine. Just a bit off color."

He smiled, then looked at her. He felt bad, always telling her no, or making it seem like she couldn't be of use to him. Torn between being nice and not looking like a wuss, Giles rubbed the back of his neck gingerly. "But if you wanted to help me with an ice pack, I couldn't complain." He was puzzled by girls, particularly younger ones, but if she was made happy by the chance to help him in some small way, he wasn't going to deny her it. It wasn't like it was costing him anything. Besides, he was more than used to accepting help from the Scooby gang, and was comfortable enough around them to make it a little less than awkward.

Willow's spirit rose. She helped herself to his freezer enthusiastically and found the ice pack. She remembered what he said about it having slipped into an uncomfortable place in his sleep... she wondered, down the back or down his front? She reddened at the subsequent mental image as she searched through his drawers for a hand towel, spare rag, something. She finally found one and wrapped the frozen thing up before returning to her perch beside Giles.

He looked up when she returned, surprised by how fast she was. Had he nodded off? It had felt like a very long blink.

"Here," she said, turning toward him on the armchair. Willow's eyes flit nervously over his face, then with a shaky hand she undid the first few buttons on his shirt without asking or even thinking much about it. She leaned forward, against his chest, pulled his starched collar to the side and slid the ice pack down the back of his shirt. Somewhere in the process, Giles had wrapped a hand about her shoulder to keep her steady as she leaned in to apply the icepack. The scent of his aftershave and the pounding of her heart made her realize just how close she was to him, how she could feel their bodies touching.

Closing his eyes, the wound hurting more than he would admit, Giles let out a soft groan and then drew a very deep breath.

"That feels nice, thank you," he said, sleepily.

Willow looked down at him through her eyelashes. Feeling his hand on her shoulder, she found her breaths coming much faster now. It was too much, this little bit of contact, interaction that could have been so innocent but twisted into something else. No, that wasn't quite it... Rather it was innocent on Giles' part but her mind was the twisted one.

"You're welcome," she breathed, snaking her hand out of his shirt but pausing at his neck. She let her hand rest there for a few anxious seconds. When he didn't immediately push her away, she began to massage where she had seen him rubbing earlier. A crick in his neck, perhaps, but Willow simply wanted to touch him, to prolong this moment when she was pressed against his chest and ostensibly have some reason for doing so. It wasn't as if she got such a chance on a regular basis. "I just... want to help."

Giles opened his eyes a bit when he felt her hand on his neck, wondering what she was doing. He didn't react too quickly, feeling quite sleepy and content. Much like a puppy getting pampered, he was lulled into a state of calm. It wasn't too often he had people caring for him, and he rarely did himself any good. He just muddled through everything, and dealt with it. It never occurred to him that actually taking the time to tend to things in a nice way could be so rewarding.

Or maybe he was just a simple creature.

He hummed a moan as she started massaging his neck, eyebrows furrowing. He pretty much forgot who she was or what they had been doing, closing his eyes again and relaxing into the touch. In his relative calm state he could suddenly feel how excited she was. Her heart beat met his ears, and it was oddly rapid. He felt her breathing, fast and agitated, and he remembered what had occurred in the library previously. He turned his head in her direction, noticing how close that brought his face to hers, and squeezed his hand on her shoulder gently.

"That's enough, thank you. I might nod off right here, if you keep that up. P-perhaps we should, ah, just focus on the work. If you want to stay. I wouldn't want you getting in trouble, but I'd be more than happy to accommodate you here. I understand you, ah, are as concerned about all this demon business as I am."

She could have kissed him when he turned to her and spoke. She would have loved to watch him fall asleep under her ministrations, then she could have laid her head against his shoulder and followed him in slumber. Instead she blinked, looking away out of something like shame. The demon. _Yes, Willow, the demon. That's what you're supposed to be helping him with, not helping yourself to copping a feel,_ the rational part of her brain screamed at her. She didn't want Giles to think she'd ignore their work simply to sate her hormones.

"Right," she nodded, though she was extremely reluctant to break away from him. She just couldn't, as far gone as she was now, he'd have to be very stern with her in order to get her to cool off. And he had, in fact, just given her permission to stay with him while they worked, not that it was permission to stay _on_ him, but the fact that he hadn't just sent her home gave her... what? Hope? Well, she always had some desperate hope that one day he would see her as more than he did now, but that wasn't what she was thinking of. No, it was just that she got something out of it when he passively allowed her to do what she was doing. If he wasn't telling her plainly to leave him alone, then it wasn't so bad to keep doing these things to him, was it?

"We should get to work then. And don't worry, I won't get in trouble," she added quickly, leaning forward to scoop a book from the coffee table before sliding easily from the arm of the chair into his lap. She was hopeless. Willow's fingers searched along the edge of the pages for the bookmark, until she found it and turned the musty tome to the appropriate page.

The Watcher blinked, swallowing hard, looking at the Witch in bewilderment as she slid into his lap. That wasn't exactly what he had been planning. He always tried to be careful of everyone's feelings, and, as usual, it led him inevitably to a very awkward situation. And he was terrible with awkward situations. He didn't move for a moment, not knowing how, looking around as if someone might seep out of the walls to help him.

No such luck.

He sighed, giving up on his silent efforts to fix the situation he had undoubtedly brought on himself, and reached for a different book. He let her stay where she was, not wanting to be rude. He saw the kids sitting on each other all the time. Maybe it was just a way this new generation expressed comfort and friendliness. Sure, his sensibilities told him it wasn't the most logical display of affection, certainly not completely platonic, but he ignored himself for the time being. Willow was a sweet girl, and he did not want to hurt her feelings in any way.

Besides, she had been nice to him, and maybe this was a very slight way of paying her back.

He read through the book in silence, getting used to the closeness and the warmth of her being so near. It wasn't so bad. He wasn't making anything worse, hadn't touched her or accidentally bumped something he didn't want to, or more specifically, wasn't supposed to. He spoke when he had a thought on the demon, but nothing too useful popped up. Eventually he did nod off, leaning back in the chair, book and witch still in his lap, glasses on his nose.

Willow was immersed in her text when she noticed how rhythmic the Watcher's breathing had become. She lifted her head and saw that his arms were limp, no longer clutching his book. She closed both books and set them aside. He had fallen asleep.

"Oh Giles," she whispered. She wondered how many nights he spent like this, alone and finding sleep only when exhaustion took him from his research. Her heart ached for him. He was so devoted. She curled her legs up into his lap, and with trembling fingers, tenderly removed his glasses and placed them atop the stack of books. Now that he was asleep, she didn't have to fear his reactions... she wound her pale arms about his neck and nuzzled into his shoulder.

Perfection.

She closed her eyes and luxuriated in the warm comfort of his body and it wasn't long before she joined him in sleep.


	7. 7 Years Ago Part 4

7 Years Ago – Part 4

Giles had nice, intangible dreams. Just colors and warmth that he reveled in, comfortable and content.

Morning came and his internal clock went off, waking him far too early, even to his own liking. He opened his eyes slowly, blinking and drawing in a breath. He caught an unfamiliar scent, or at least one he had never smelled in the morning before, and he looked down to see Willow curled against him, her arms hugging his neck. He blinked for a moment, then it sank in.

He had a teenager sleeping on his lap.

"Oh!" He yelped awkwardly, picking her up into his arms as he almost deftly, in his haphazard way, escaped from the chair and turned, placing her in it. He bumped into the table which dropped his glasses to the floor, and he quickly tried to recover them, but bumped the table again and lost two books to the floor. He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

His neck hurt, his back hurt, and he felt a bit shaken. But he had asked her to stay with him the night before. He hadn't, however, recalled asking her to stay on top of him. He would have to be a bit more clear, next time. Retreating into the kitchen, leaving his glasses and books where they had fallen, he awkwardly set about making some tea.

Willow slept a deeply contented sleep. She didn't wake right away when Giles woke and placed her in the chair alone, but several minutes later she roused slowly from her dreams. Waking up felt strange and unfamiliar, she only realized she wasn't in her room a split-second before she opened her eyes. She remembered the events of the night before immediately, elated that it hadn't been just another dream.

But Giles was no longer with her. She rubbed her eyes and frowned, looking around the room. She spotted his glasses and books strewn about the floor. Worry rose within her, could that be some sign of a struggle? Had the demon come after them and gotten to him? No, surely she wouldn't have slept through that. Her fears were eased when she heard noises - a tap running, the clatter of teacups - coming from the kitchen. She sighed, relieved, and began to clean up the mess. She straightened the books and retrieved his glasses.

Chewing her lower lip, she crept toward the kitchen. She took a timid step forward.

"Good morning, Giles," she looked up at him meekly, nervously tracing the contours of his glasses frames with her fingertips.

"Ah, Willow," Giles said, almost too quickly. He stood for a moment, staring at her like a deer into headlights. He smiled, remembered smiling was dangerous, looked down at his feet, looked back up because he felt rude, and then moved to the kettle. He touched it a bit too early and burned his hand, pulling it back sharply and letting out a colorful string of British and American curse words.

Trying the kettle with a hand cover this time, he managed to pour the hot water without injuring himself. He finished fixing up the tea, and offered her a cup.

"I wish last night had been a bit more productive, but there might not be anything for it," he said, back to business and trying not to dwell. He was getting used to embarrassing himself and then just moving on, "the more I research, the more I think black magic is our only course of action. But, ah. Y-yes." He stopped talking, sipping his tea and lowering himself, aching, into the sofa.

It was going to be one of those days. He could just feel it.

There was something adorable in the way he seemed to be bumbling about that morning, but Willow wondered if it was because she was making him nervous.

She followed him back to the main room, holding her teacup with both hands like she didn't quite trust herself with it. Probably rightfully, as in the next moment she tripped and pitched to the sofa beside him, spilling half of her tea on his lap while the rest went on the floor with the cup.

Giles let out a sound that was not quite manly when her tea hit his lap. He crawled back against the sofa, lifting himself up while sinking back as if he could try and sneak out of his skin and leave the uncomfortable sensation that was currently slipping through his legs behind.

"Giles, I'm sorry!" she squeaked in shock, the last thing she wanted to do was add to his troubles. Without anything to mop at his pants, she tried wiping away the liquid with her hands before realizing what she was doing, where her hands were.

He gasped and caught her wrists.

"Sorry," she murmured again.

"No, no," he said, his voice still an octave or two too high, "it's perfectly fine, no worries. I'll take c-c-care of it, thank you!" He stammered, all but leaping from the chair. He let her take her hands back as he moved, walking a bit funny as he tried to get to his bedroom while trying his best not to let the liquid touch his skin any more than it had to. It was the most uncomfortable sensation he had experienced in a while, made all the more potent by the awkward moment it had created between him and Willow.

After a change of clothes, Giles made his way back downstairs. The momentary pain of the spill had passed and thankfully left behind no permanent effects, something he wished could have been said about his other injury – the bruise on his back from the night before. Walking into the living room, he caught sight of Willow mopping up the remainder of the spilt tea from the floor.

"Ah, let me," he said, taking the damp towel from Willow and he waved his hand as if to cut off any further attempts at apology or insisting she help clean up or whatever she might have wanted to say. Deflated, she quietly took a seat back upon the sofa as Giles finished sopping up the tea and put what needed to be laundered into the basket in the bathroom.

"Forgive me," Giles said as he re-entered the room, then sat down beside her, "for dozing off last night. And ah... for... well, I don't know if you noticed but, ah. I may have put my arm... around you... last night. I'm sure you fell asleep, same as I did, but I profusely apologize for any... seeming indecorous behavior."

Confused, overwhelmed, and unsettled, she didn't have the best judgment that morning. "Nothing that happened last night was your fault, it... it was me," she slumped against the sofa. "Being with you makes me so happy, Giles, I just... I just want to make you happy, too. I don't think you'd ever admit it," she clenched her jaw, she couldn't keep the words from tumbling from her lips, "but you need someone to look after you. To relax you after a hard day, to share conversations about magic and monsters and history and literature," she touched his arm tentatively, "I saw a change in you when I was tending to you last night. You looked so calm. You deserve to feel good, for everything that you do for us, you deserve something in return."

Giles put his hand over hers, patting it with a distinctly platonic sense. It was quite forced, and he definitely wanted it to be noticed. Probably. He was a bit dazed.

"I do appreciate your concern and care, Willow, I do," he heard himself saying, his smile soft and warm, "it's very sweet of you, to be so concerned about me and my well being. I could, perhaps, take better care of myself, but honestly none of us are in the right business for too many luxuries. My reward for doing what I do is seeing you all grow, learn, and survive. We save lives. That's what I take from the long hours of work, and the times I fall asleep in that blasted armchair."

He sighed, hand still over hers, "And I do take great pleasure in speaking with you about these... magical things. But I'm afraid you may be developing a bit of a crush on me, and that... ah. I think it's just a bit inappropriate, and I would never want to do anything to hurt you. It might be best to address it now?"

The morning was turning out terribly, that was not at all how Willow had envisioned her confession to Giles going. In her dreams, he never told her that it wasn't right. Willow had spent too long dreaming.

His face was kind, his words delicate, but Willow still felt the sting of rejection. She recalled the time she realized that she would never be anything more to Xander than his best friend. But Xander had just been a childhood crush miscarried into her teen years. Giles was a man, Giles paid attention to her, and yet here it was, happening all over again. She would never be anything more to him than a charge to protect and instruct, a witch to share magic with but never affection.

"Address it how?" With his hand over hers, it was easy to thread her fingers through his and hold on to him possessively. "Is love a luxury? Or is this just _'Another opportunity to remind Willow that she'll never be good enough to have her feelings returned.'_?" It really wasn't fair to lay that on him, but she was already upset. She wanted him to talk to her of magic, but she wanted to play the part of his lover when he did. It was too hard to be around him and _not_ be affectionate, but it seemed like he was going to put a stop to that.

Giles saw her disappointment and he felt bad about it. He really didn't want to make her feel unwanted, or neglected. He just had a lot to consider, and he couldn't allow her to carry on falling in teenage-love with him, letting it get in the way of the jobs they both had signed on to do. Still, his heart hurt at her expression, and his resolve wavered ever so slightly.

He let her hold on to him, though he didn't let his fingers wrap around hers.

"No, no, Willow, honestly. I would never willingly imply any of that, I promise you. You're a charming, darling young woman and I know you're destined to find someone how sees in you what I see in you. What you know is there, and what you so desperately want to be seen for. But I can't be that man. I'm twice your age, and not mention the legal and moral implications of you being a student at the school I work at. You should be focusing on boys your age. I believe you're just lonely, as we all have been. Please, don't be hurt. This will pass."

His soft green eyes watched her carefully, looking for any sign of her relenting. He felt anxious, not wanting her to recoil from him and be angry. This wasn't something he was used to doing, and he was beginning to wonder if he was approaching it in the right way. He finally let his hand close around her, squeezing her fingers reassuringly.

She brought up his hand and held it to her cheek, hunching over herself and trying her best not to cry.

Giles let her move his hand, accommodating her as much as he knew how. He really did feel like a monster, taking a young girls feelings and crushing them beneath his feet. It wasn't something he liked doing, or wanted to do. He couldn't think how they might have gone on, though, if it hadn't been addressed. She was so sweet, he couldn't imagine letting her pine for him and miss the young life she was meant to live. He was an old, heart broken, lonely man who couldn't imagine himself falling in love again. With anyone.

Willow wanted to curl up somewhere and hide forever. He had let her down so gently. He was just so decent, so Giles. He could have at least been a little bit mean, maybe seem a bit disgusted by her. Maybe that would have made it easier for Willow to get over him, or to get mad at him.

"You're a beautiful, intelligent young woman, Willow. You are more than 'good enough' to be loved. It's just not something you can rush or predict. In time, you'll understand."

Said the man who had only ever loved one woman. Jenny's death had been the single most terrible thing he had ever experienced in his life. How cruel it was, how cutting and personal Angel had made her murder. How completely unexpected it had been. To have someone close to him killed, and then used to taunt him was more then devastating. It broke him, somehow, and he could not bring himself to feel anything for anyone, simple because he did not want to bring anyone else the kind of pain he felt that night, and for a long time after it. The very idea that Willow might be put in that kind of danger just because she was harboring feelings for him terrified the Watcher more than he could ever find words for. He sighed inwardly. This definitely wasn't his forte.

"Besides, what could you possibly see in an old, stuffy, British librarian?"

"What do I see in you?" she whispered, then her voice grew louder. "I see your strength, your devotion. Your intelligence and your sense of humor. Your well-honed skills and your love - fatherly love," she clarified quickly, "for all of us. I also see... how physically attractive you are..." she added out of the desire to be completely honest. She tossed back her head and leaned against the couch, staring up at the ceiling.

He flushed at her comments, clearing his throat and trying not to look too embarrassed.

"You hate me now, don't you? You'll never trust me to take anything seriously again, and Buffy will get the wiggins 'cause her sidekick has a thing for her Watcher and I'll be banned from the library and ugh," Willow shuddered, then hung her head, releasing Giles' hand.

"I don't hate you Willow, come on. These kinds of things are bound to happen. I am reckless in my charming personality and rugged good looks," he grinned at her, clearly making a joke at his own expense. He didn't believe either comment was true, but he knew she might. He was daring to tease her, but in as friendly a way as possible. It seemed appropriate, to lighten the mood, "I understand completely. Buffy doesn't have to know. I'm not much for gossiping, anyway. You'll always be welcome in the library, much as you'll always be welcome here, to help me research and be a viable member of our team. We can't function without you, you know that. I don't think something like this could take away from that."

Willow knew she had been overly dramatic, and she finally deigned to smile at Giles. He was making her feel better, more comfortable, as he always did. Even after all of this awkwardness and unruly angst, he still had that power over her.

"Thank you for being so understanding," she said, forcing herself to act reasonably. At least by putting up a facade for the moment, she'd be able to keep from digging herself an even deeper hole. There would be time to react in full later.

"May I borrow some books? I think... I think I might want to work alone for a few days." Willow still intended to confer with him when necessary, but to avoid the lingering pain it would be easier to do the bulk of her research out of his presence.

Giles nodded, not hurt by her decision to work alone. He understood. It would be a bit awkward, he imagined, for a little while. But he had to show her that he wasn't in anyway put off by her, and didn't look down on her at all. He was rather flattered, really, though he wouldn't share that, either.

"Of course you may. Might be best, in the long run. So long as you don't spill any tea on them... pants I can replace, after all." He laughed, sighing slightly. It hadn't turned out all that badly. He was comfortable, in an anxious way, and he hoped she wouldn't be too much changed because of all this.

"I suppose I should be letting you get home now. I can only imagine what your mother might be thinking at this point. Refer her to me, if she needs an authoritative voice to tell her your night out was perfectly academic." He smiled, genially, rubbing his neck and wondering vaguely if he might have time to head to his bedroom and pass out on his bed for a few hours.


	8. 7 Years Ago Part 5

7 Years Ago – Part 5

Willow spent the next few days rather depressed. She couldn't blame Giles, but she also couldn't deny her own emotional pain. Each morning that she saw him briefly in the library as the Scoobies passed by on the way to class jolted her anew. Buffy had noticed that she was feeling low, but Willow found new excuses to fish out in an effort to hide the truth. She couldn't tell anyone, least of all Buffy... it would be like telling her friend that she was in love with Buffy's dad.

She spent her nights after homework plodding forward in the research, poring through the books Giles had given her. He had definitely played to her strengths in his selection, though she found herself lingering over the cryptic cyphers and magical lingo in one particular text. She was determined to show him that she would get through it, though in the end, after solving puzzles and piecing together archaic omens she was still grasping at straws in an effort to find new solutions to the demon problem.

One day, she finally felt strongly enough about her findings (or lack thereof) to hold a serious discussion with Giles. She was convinced that there was nothing else they could do aside from his suggestion of black magic. She hoped that maybe he had had more luck in his work to find an alternative, but either way she had to know because the murders hadn't ceased while they were wasting time searching for another fix.

On her lunch period, she went to the library, armed with her notes and her resolve to talk of business and nothing else.

Giles was not looking his best when she arrived in the library. He was stressed, looking a bit grizzled and taxed. He hadn't found any solution, and the weight of the murders was taking a toll on him. Knowing that he had to return to the black arts that he had spurned in his youth was making him sick, the memories of what he had done with it in the past, and what he might do with it now. He didn't know if he could trust himself.

But it had to be done. He was the only one among them who knew the incantations, the subtle intricacies of its darker nature. He was the only one with the experience, with the strength to handle it. And he couldn't think of trying to pawn it off to someone else. There was no way. It had to be him.

There were many things he was scared of. The actual danger he would put himself in, putting himself in front of the demon, and in casting the spell itself. No dark magic could be performed without consequences. He knew that. There was always a price. But he was more terrified of losing control. The spell he had in mind was terrible. To have the others near him, watching him turn to such depraved depths, and possibly be hurt for it... he hadn't slept in the last few nights, dreaming of it.

He looked up at the sound of someone coming into the library, nerves shot.

"Ah, Willow," he said, instantly relaxing. It was a welcomed surprise. He was beginning to think she would never cast more than a glance at him, "how are you?"

"Giles," she was about to smile at him, but the side of her mouth crooked oddly upon seeing him. "Giles you look terrible," she blurted, not quite the mistress of tact. She was concerned, though, he was at the crux of the solution - which, without even having spoken a word to him about it, she felt like she knew the answer to the question she had come to ask... there was no alternative solution - and he needed to be strong. It was jarring to see him so disheveled.

Giles feigned a smile, though he felt the warmth of it inwardly. "Thanks, I thought no one would notice. I work hard, to look like this. Always nice to have it noticed." He shook his head, heaving a sigh and leaning on the banister of the stairwell. He was standing on the second step, trying to look poised. He looked uncomfortable.

She spread her notes out before him. "I finished the books, all of them, and- well- you weren't exaggerating when you said it didn't look good for us. You..." she narrowed her eyes, lowering her voice to a whisper, "couldn't find another way, either, could you?"

He sighed again, losing his playful attitude at the point-blank question. He shook his head, raking his hand through his messy hair, an action he had been repeating throughout the day. He stepped down, crossing to her, pointing to the piles of books on the table. Some were open, some not, papers strewn every where. He shook his head.

"I can't find anything else. I must do this spell. It's the only way, and I'm the only one that knows it. Save, I suppose, Ethan Rayne, but I don't think he'll be up to lending us a hand. Not that I'd ask him." He paused, looking at her, his eyes darkening. The air seemed to get a bit denser.

Willow shuddered at the mention of Ethan.

"I'm going to do it tonight. I don't know if I can tell Buffy and the others. I shouldn't even be telling you. I don't want any of you there. It won't be pretty."

"What?" Willow's eyes darted over his face. Though stuck in a grim corner with only one way out, the young witch had never seriously considered that they'd go it without Buffy. Or that Giles would take sole responsibility for enacting the solution. The combined strength of the Scoobies had always been a boon to them, it didn't make sense to suddenly refuse help now.

She didn't want to say that she was worried about him, because he looked like a wreck enough as it was. Would he be strong enough, prepared enough? She had to believe that he would, she couldn't risk bringing down his confidence now that he was committed to casting the spell. "I really don't agree with you on that," her brows knit and she crossed her arms.

"I didn't suppose you would," Giles told her wearily. "But this is how it must be, only I can cast the spell... therefor I alone should take on the full burden of everything that comes with it. I should go. Prepare. If all goes well, you should hear from me tonight. Don't whisper a word to Buffy, or any of the others. I know she's your best friend, and the Slayer, and should not be kept in the dark, but there's no benefit in involving her. She'll only worry. As I'm afraid _you_ must, now. I'm sorry for that. But believe me, I'll do my best."

"I trust you Giles," she said with conviction. "I told you before, and I still feel the same way, I have faith in you. Your abilities, the will of your soul. You can do this, you're the only one who can do this," Willow was trying to create a sort of understanding. Letting him know that she respected why he had to keep them all in the dark about this, even if she didn't agree. "I won't breathe a word of this to anyone. But at least give me an estimate on how long it'll take..." Willow knew that it was in her duty, as a witch and something like his apprentice when it came to magic, to see that the powerful dark spell didn't harm him, corrupt him, or drive him insane. That would require seeing him immediately after it was performed. She had read about evaluating the effects of black magic on users, the various levels of corruption, though she was unsure of her skills in practice. Not even Buffy would know how to evaluate him post-ritual, and a cunning mage could easily fool others into thinking nothing was wrong until it was too late. That's why it was solely in her domain, and for once she actually felt justified in demanding something from him. "I _will_ come after you if you don't return within a reasonable amount of time."

Giles frowned at her. He didn't want to give her any specifics. If he told her when he would be finished she might surmise when to come looking for him, in an effort to help. He wouldn't allow that. He would make sure to lure the demon to some random area, at some random time. He had to keep them all safe.

"Give me until sun up," he said with a sigh, "you can come looking for me then. I won't tell you anything else. Please, don't try to do anything to assist me. I honestly just don't want any of you seeing that kind of magic." He didn't tell her that if he cast it correctly, neither he nor the demon would be looking very pretty afterward. But at least he would still be alive. The demon would suffer a lot worse.  
But Giles couldn't feel pity now. He was resolved. What had to be done, had to be done. He just wanted to get it over with. He moved to Willow, nodding at her. He couldn't bring himself to smile, even though he wanted to put her at ease.

"'Til sun up," she rolled the words over her tongue. They seemed foreboding, as though she might find something horrible when the time came. But she would be strong. She gathered her papers and left the library.

* * *

Willow set up an altar in her room that afternoon. Giles had told her not to assist, and she intended to keep her promise, he had never been so serious as he had been when he told her that. Still, that didn't prevent her from doing her own small ritual. It wasn't assistance, not directly, simply a calling to the four corners to watch over those dear to her. Buffy and Xander were part of that as well, though Giles was at the fore of her mind when she cast the protective spell.

She would let the candles burn into the night. She climbed onto her bed, tucked her knees to her chest, and waited.

_If all goes well, you should hear from me tonight._

Good thoughts to the aether. The candles flickered. Good thoughts to the aether. It helped to calm her down, but the wait was still hard.

* * *

Giles left when it was still early. Light out. He had foregone his usual tweed ensemble for something that allowed him to move a bit more: a simple pair of jeans and a green sweater. It still wasn't the most fashion forward attire, but at least it didn't have a tie. He wasn't too concerned with how he looked.

It didn't take long to find the demon. They were near where the first attack had taken place, though Giles knew without trying that there would be no luring the demon away from this place. It was as if it was waiting for him, expecting him to come. They had never actually met, face to face, but they both recognized the power in the other. Giles was fully prepared, coal-black dark sigils scrawled ritualistically on his arms, and he rolled up his sleeves to bare them. The demon snarled, recognizing the marks. They spoke sparingly, nothing more than taunts and dares. Neither seemed scared of the other. The demon had no idea what it was getting into.

It moved to attack the puny human, and Giles started his incantations. They were in a guttural, ancient language, one lost even to most demons and creatures of the night. He spoke it flawlessly, its power shaking the earth around them. The air crackled and fizzed, heating up, the grass on the ground curling and dying. Giles' hair became jet black, his eyes a deeper, unnatural shade of green as he stared unwaveringly at the demon. It was like everything had slowed down for the Watcher. He could feel everything, hear everything, see everything: and he had time to digest it all. He sidestepped the demon's charge and launched his own attack.

It would be the only one he needed.

The earth split and a fiery rope exploded from its depth, white around the edges and burning a hellish black in the center. Giles controlled it with the slightest movements of his hands, able to dictate how hot it burned, how long it grew, how it moved. He sent it at the demon, like a snake striking hapless prey, and it curled around the demon. It burned, and the creature screamed horribly. It lost any pride it had in moments, the sheer, impossible pain of the spell tearing through its entire being, breaking it completely.

Giles felt the odd sensation of his skin splitting. Large, deep gashes were being pulled open on his flesh, and he knew it was the consequence of the spell. He had known from the get go that it would be his own body that would be offered up as a balance to the malignant power of the primal, bestial spell. He couldn't feel any pain, however. He could keep the spell going as long as his body held out. Drunk on power, intoxicated by the thrill of the spell and the screams of the demon, Giles made it last.

He wasn't killing the bad guy. He was torturing a victim.

And he was enjoying it.

Eventually, however, his legs simply gave out from under him. The demon was about to die, anyway. As Giles knelt in a pool of a great deal more blood than was safe to lose, he regained some of his sense. Mercifully, he the demon's life, then struggled to end the spell. He shut his eyes tightly. It was like trying to will himself sober after one too many drinks. A yell of frustration and pent up aggression issued forth from his throat, he wanted to cause more pain but had no one left to play with. The good man inside the black-magic-tainted form seized control and the spell was abruptly ended. Fire exploded into nothing more than hot embers, the ground was sealing itself up and taking the body of the demon with it. Its soul was not yet done being tormented. Giles collapsed forward, his hair returning to normal, but he was panting and exhausted.

He needed to get to a hospital. Some of the wounds that had opened up were terribly deep, and once more he was cognizant that he was losing a lot of blood. But he couldn't stand. He couldn't find the strength to drag himself across the grass. He looked up and saw the sun; realized he had been torturing that demon for hours. Endless hours for the demon: a moment much too short for the all-but-possessed Watcher. He shut his eyes, even though he knew he shouldn't.

In seconds, he was unconscious.


	9. 7 Years Ago Part 6

AN: I have an interested beta-reader, as well as renewed interest in the story itself. So chapters should be coming a bit faster than in the past! Thank you to all of my readers.

7 Years Ago – Part 6

Willow's eyes had grown heavy by two o'clock in the morning, but she worked to will away the desire to sleep. She had to wait for word from Giles. And if it didn't come? She didn't want to think about that. She rested her chin on her knees and watched the candles burn and cast shadows over her walls. Halfway melted... her eyelids slid shut. Something snapped her out of it, and she looked around her room, trying to figure out how long she had been asleep. The candles had burned to nothing but bubbly stumps of wax. Outside her window, she could see the sky was now the dark blue that came before the dawn.

Realizing how much time she had lost, she jumped from her bed and pulled a box out from underneath. She reached for her backpack, dumped out her school supplies, and began to stuff it with items from the box. Crystals, herbs, oils, a wooden pentacle, a dagger. A few more odds and ends. All of the things she would need to fulfill her part in this horrid plan (with a few extras for good measure), to make sure Giles was still himself after having been subjected to the seductive power of black magic once again.

She was worried that she hadn't heard from him, but the sun would be up soon. As the first pale ray lighted through her window, she pulled on a sweater, slipped on her backpack, tied her sneakers, and ran out of her house without hesitation.

Nobody knew the danger Giles had placed himself in, aside from the two of them. She had to find him. But how? She ran through the woods, turning around at various times, unsure of where to go. Willow feel to her knees in a clearing, the wet underbrush soaking through her jeans. She closed her eyes and turned her face skyward, when she felt it. Though, feeling wasn't quite the right way to describe the sensation. It was a mix between a scent and a crackling electric throbbing behind her eyes. Was that what the aftermath of black magic could smell like? She stumbled to her feet and ran in the direction she felt it was coming from. As the sun grew brighter in the sky, the trail deadened, the morning vanquishing the dark deeds of the night. It didn't matter though, because Willow was far enough along to realize where Giles had to be, the only place that made sense in the vicinity.

She was not more than a block from the site of the first attack. She bolted the rest of the way, calling for him, calling to him, and hearing nothing in response. It wasn't until she was upon his body that she realized the true extent he had gone to in order to save them all. Her call was reduced to a strangled cry that barely left her throat. The wounds all over him, the expression on his unconscious face. She knelt beside him, knelt in a pool of his blood and balled her fists against his sweater. Was she too late? "Giles, oh God, Giles," she felt at his neck, on his wrist, trying to locate a pulse. Then she saw that his chest was still rising and falling, albeit shallowly, but he was still breathing. She had to get help, get him to a hospital. She rose and staggered backward from his body, spinning around and searching for anyone around who might be able to help. She didn't want to leave his side, and there was still a chance that he might be possessed.

A man was walking his dog. Willow ran to him, covered in blood and hysterical. The man said he'd send for an ambulance, and Willow returned to Giles' side. She brushed back the hair from his forehead, even his hair was damp with blood. "Don't die," she groaned, as the first few fat tears rolled down her cheeks.

Giles couldn't let himself die. He didn't want to admit it, but he was scared of letting go. Of giving himself to the eternal darkness of death. He had no idea what condition his soul was in, or if there was an afterlife in which he would be judged. He didn't know anything, despite all his research and experience. All he was really sure of was he did not want to leave his life just yet. There was too much to do, too much to worry about.

He absolutely had to stay alive.

The air was crackling again when he regained some semblance of consciousness. His back was burning, and he knew he was almost unconsciously cast a spell. Another one he had learned, just in case. He felt the torturous agony of his wounds retreating, a false strength filling his limbs. He fell unconscious again quickly, however, a victim of losing too much blood in too short a time.

He woke up to the sound of a familiar voice. He opened his eyes, focusing on the blurry, but recognizable, form in front of him. He reached up a weak hand, touching her arm with his fingers, almost mesmerized by the stain of blood he left on her clothes. Dazed, battered, he was slightly delirious as he struggled to sit up. The spell was still in effect. He couldn't feel the pain he knew he should be in.

"Willow," he said, voice gravely, "take me home, please." He heard the sound of an ambulance wailing in the distance. "I can't go to a hospital. My blood, they'll be bewildered. I can't now. Can't explain the magic. Please. I-I need to go home."

Willow yelped at the touch of his hand on her arm. She couldn't believe it, he was conscious! Relief welled up within her heart. She wiped away her tears with her sleeve, streaking her cheek with his blood.

"Giles, you-" she was about to say that he would die if he didn't go to the hospital, but she was struck with the rest of what he said. His blood. The dark magic. There were so many details that she wasn't aware of. For an instant, she felt a surge of anger - he should have prepared her better, how dare he leave her in the dark and then expect her to not to question him now? But the anger disappeared as quickly as it came. Had that emotion originated from her state of mind or from the influence of black magic that hung in the air and laid inside the cracked earth all around them? Now wasn't the time to ponder it. The ambulance was drawing near. "I'll get you home," she vowed.

Willow stood and braced herself, taking hold of his hands and pulling with all her strength. She had to help him to his feet, and then, somehow, they'd be able to stumble their way to his house. She really had no idea how he was physically able to even sit up in the condition he was in, but she was so focused on doing as he said, and he probably wouldn't have been able to explain it right then anyway.

Giles clung to her as she helped him back to his home. He, still using spells he had learned 'just in case', cast an interference spell around them so no one would wonder at the young girl dragging a bleeding, half dead old man down the street. The spell that prevented pain was still in effect, and he relied heavily on the fake energy it gave him, limping with Willow without making a sound.

It was a small miracle, at least to Giles, when they reached his home. He moved himself to the couch, leaving her as he collapsed. The spell faded quite suddenly, and he cried out in agony. Nearly blacking out from the intensity of it washing over him in one instance.

His mind was in a strange, dangerous place. The magic had been a thrill, like a drug, and left him in an intoxicated state. He could barely focus on anything, and his mind could not stop trying to think up different black magic spells that could help him. He needed to stop the profuse bleeding. Needed to give himself more energy. Needed something, anything, to bring him relief.

His body, however, was kind of pissed at him. It seemed to be the more sensible of the two, and instead of allowing him to bat any stupid ideas around for too long it simply shut down. He was unconscious within moments, his breathing labored, his face etched with pain.

Willow was in a panic. With Giles unconscious again on the couch, she knew she had to help stop the bleeding. On top of that, every moment she delayed her magical evaluation of him was just more time for the after effects of black magic to do terrible things to his mind.

She ran through his house like a wild woman, throwing open closets and cupboards, trying to piece together her vague ideas of first aid and apply them to the situation. She found scissors and clean linen sheets, then sterile gauze, medical tape, and antibiotic cream from his bathroom. She took everything to the main room, hacking apart the sheets with the scissors and keeping her eye on him for some kind of change. As long as he was still breathing, it would be all right, even though his face was lined with pain, he would be all right. She would make sure of it. Digging through her bag, she pulled out the small glass bottle of some essential oil and dropped a small amount on the pieces of sheets. Normally things should have been kept as sterile as possible, but this was not a normal situation, and Willow needed help in saving him. She chanted a spell for well-being over the sheets and bandages, finally ready.

Willow was almost glad that he was unconscious for what she had to do next. She walked slowly to the couch, standing over him. She would have hesitated more if his life wasn't at stake. She began to strip off his blood-soaked clothes, she needed to get at his flesh directly in order to bandage him up, and if there were wounds lurking in places she couldn't see then it would have made her efforts worthless. With his once-green sweater cast aside, she began to slather the antibiotic cream into his surface wounds and covered them in gauze. Then came the deeper injuries, the slashes and gashes that left him at a risk of bleeding to death. She used the bits of sheet as tourniquets, as well as covering the wounds themselves to prevent infection. If she had to wait for the bleeding to stop on its own, she feared she'd run out of sheets - she thought for sure that with injuries this serious, the bandages would have to be changed every few hours. Willow repeated the process on his legs once his jeans were removed, bandaging him up as best she could.

When she was done with that task, she ventured with some trepidation into his room, and fetched a robe. If she had to tend to his injuries again, it would be the simplest garment. She wrapped the robe about him, careful not to move him too much, just enough so that she could get the thing on him.

Willow could have collapsed herself. She was exhausted, wracked with worry, but running on adrenaline. She went to the kitchen and brought back a glass of water. She sat on the couch, and positioned Giles' head in her lap, hooking her foot around the strap of her backpack and bringing it into grasp. She had to begin. She dipped an unused piece of sheet into the water and cleaned some of the blood from his face and arms. When she was done, she drew out from her bag a white crystal on a chain, held it above his forehead. She began to chant the spell she had memorized only just weeks ago, the crystal starting to move something like a pendulum. She had to know how badly his soul had been affected by the powerful magic he had performed, the obvious tolls on his body only made her worry more for the state of his mind. But she wasn't certain how such information would be revealed by her own spell, only that this was what she was supposed to do.


	10. 7 Years Ago Part 7

7 Years Ago – Part 7

Giles groaned as she moved him around, whimpering and gasping, but he didn't wake up. He was mostly quiet as she worked, save when she had to focus on the larger wounds, and then he was only capable of feebly crying out in his unconscious state. He was trembling by the time she was done, though resting near her seemed to comfort him slightly, his body reacting to the comfort of her warmth.  
He breathed a deep sigh as she cast her spell, his magical energy reacting. What was left active inside him tried to explode to the surface, as if to escape, or pull away so as not to be found. His hair shifted colors, from brown to black, though the change was slow. The marks that had been on his arms, though they had been gone, returned again. He opened his eyes, unseeing, their color changed as they had been during the battle.

Or, more accurately, during the _torture_ of the demon.

He was on his feet faster than could actually be seen, sense returning to him acutely as he looked around. He looked at himself, wrapped up and pale, and then looked at Willow. He recognized her, and he grinned. He saw the crystal, nodding.

"You want to see what's become of me, from the spells I've cast?" He asked, his voice unfamiliar, "I'm a bit offended you didn't just ask. I feel fine. Better than that. But I know very well that this is just a... an after shock, as it were. It will pass, and I'll collapse. I could still die. I understand that. But with this magic in me, it doesn't even seem to matter. What does that tell you, Willow? Are you scared of me? Or of what might happen to me? Or a little bit of both?"

Willow wanted to scream, to cry that he was scaring her by saying such things, but something inside her begged her not to show fear. Giles, infused with dark power, was terrifying. The changes to him, that terrible voice that she didn't recognize, the dark markings all over. Was it really him, under the influence of all that magic?

"Giles, you have to overcome it," she tried to sound authoritative, but fear crept into her voice, made it shaky. "I can help you, I won't let you die," she pledged. "It _does_ matter Giles," her face screwed up, "you just can't see it right now... I'm afraid of you like this, afraid _for_ you."

The intoxication of dark magic was horrible to watch, made even worse in that it was Giles - trusted, respectable Giles - who had transformed before her eyes into a shadow of the man she knew. She pulled out the ritual dagger from her bag, and rose from the couch, willing her legs not to buckle in fright.

"I can help dispel this influence," she told him. Everything was so much different than she had pictured when she had read about these things. Now that she had to put her untested skills into practice, did she really have the power, the force of will, to compete with his if he tried to hold on to the seductive dark magic?

"You have to let go," she plead.

"I like that you're afraid," Giles said quietly, affecting his usual tone, just to make things that much creepier. He smiled at her, genial and soft, only his eyes betraying the sinister nature he had fallen to, "I _like_ that you're scared. I've always been so quiet, so reserved. Even when I ran with Ethan and that lot, I got teased. I led them, and they still knew me to be the... gentlest of them all. Black magic has always been my favorite plaything. But I willed myself to shut it away."

He watched her, still smiling.

"You can dispel it? I hardly think so, dear little girl. And I don't want you to try. I told you. I like this. I used it so much as a youth, and I remember why. Bloody hell, it's brilliant," he laughed, moving near her. He looked at the dagger, not impressed, and placed his hand on her shoulder, sliding it up her neck and holding her cheek in his hand.

"You're such a pretty, talented young thing. You like magic, as much as I do. More, because you're adept. I had to work for it, but it comes naturally for you. That must be nice. I can show you things you've never imagined, you know. About magic, I mean," he grinned at her, an expression he had never worn before. At least not in mixed company. He played his fingers over the line of her jaw.

"Do you really want to relieve me of this boldness, this ability to seek thrill and live life? You want me to be the reserved, cautious man I made myself into, constantly wary of every slight chance at being 'rude'. Predictable... safe... boring?" He leaned closer, just to tease her body, because he was well aware of her feelings toward him, "I'm not sure you know what you're looking at."

"Don't... touch me," she breathed helplessly as his hand cradled her cheek. It wasn't Giles, but it was. No, it was that the good parts of Giles were too weak to fight, and with his history... it was all too easy to give in. That's what Willow told herself, that's what she had to focus on. He wasn't thinking straight, he certainly wasn't in control. It wasn't her Giles. But it _felt_ like her Giles.

With his touch came some bewitchment, Willow would have liked to blame it on the dark magic but she feared it had more to do with her emotions. She never really considered his offer, she couldn't, she had to help him. But in the back of her mind, the idea was alluring. To wield such terrible power as was now on display before her. She couldn't, she wouldn't. She didn't want to be that person, and she didn't want to be in a position where nobody could save her.

"I don't want to know the things you could- Ohhh," Willow moaned, feeling his body against hers. She had to move away from him. Giles would never manipulate her feelings like this, she had to free him from the influence or terrible things would happen. She tried to push him away, then she stumbled backward.

"Do you really believe what you're saying? Can the Good part inside of you really believe all of that?" her lower lip trembled, "Giles, _you are good_. And just. Responsible. Caring. Not this, not existing purely to- to seek thrill. You, you told me yourself that we aren't allowed luxuries. But because of this influence, you don't care anymore? You don't care about the fate of the world, only about yourself?"

Giles watched her darkly, a wolf on the prowl. He grinned, letting her move away from him. Standing languidly, not at all embarrassed that he was hardly clothed, he watched her with his dark, fathomless, but deeply intelligent eyes. He tilted his head his grin not fading.

"Oh, I care," he said, almost honestly, sounding much like his usual self, "I care deeply. About everything. The world. Sunnydale. Vampires. Lives. I want to save people, and I want to stop the bad guys. Come on. You know me." He stepped toward her, looking innocent. "I'm one of the good guys. One of the best guys, right?"

"So I want to have a little fun in the process? I'm free now, or freer. I can feel my own power, power I've pushed down for so long. I worked so hard to create it within my self, cultivate it, make myself a mage, and what did I do? Got scared, for years, and hid from it. But I'm wiser now. Stronger. I can control it."

He caught her by the arms, "you can help me. My little apprentice. I'll give you anything you want. I can now," he placed on hand on her face again, leaning in dangerously close to her, his lips just a breath away from hers, "don't take this away from me."


End file.
